Imperfectly Forged
by Alisa Yang
Summary: No military on Earth should have commissioned a teenage officer no matter how good a pilot he turned out to be, but war is brewing and the experimental Endlave that the United States expects to be critical in the upcoming conflict is proving too difficult to use by traditionally trained soldiers. Guilty Crown prequel.
1. Chapter 1: Raw Material

Chapter 1: Raw Material

"_Unfortunately progress on the new Endlave, codenamed Spectre, has fallen behind by eight months. It is my regret to report that we have been unable to find a pilot capable of manipulating the vehicle, though the engineers believe it should be possible. If we do not find a pilot soon, it is likely we will have to resort to manual control should we need to deploy a unit to the Ural Mountains. Boots on the ground, sir."_

_ "I'm afraid we can't wait, colonel. War is coming. It isn't here yet, but by God it will be. If we can't find a pilot, boots on the ground it may have to be."_

-GC-

Daryl Yan sat sideways on a hard metal bench, arms resting on the windowsill, staring outside at the GHQ military base in the 24th Ward. He imagined that most of his classmates were doing something fun. Maybe traveling abroad, seeing their families.

The middle school on base for the stationed soldiers' families had wrapped up for the summer and his eighth grade year was done. Next year would be high school, with the same bunch of army brats he'd been going to school with for the past three and a half years. Most of them spoke varying levels of English and Japanese, English because that was the language of the UN and Japanese because that was the language of the country their parents were stationed in.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see base personnel buzzing around the waiting room. Other kids were the children of lower ranked officers and enlisted. Other kids had two parents, so they could go home even if their mom or dad was working.

But Daryl's father was the general, the man in charge of the GHQ, and since the death of Daryl's mother, General Yan had become a single parent. When he did not wish to leave Daryl alone at home, that meant Daryl had to come with, and since Daryl was still a kid, that also meant that he would be left in a less restricted area where he could be monitored by the general's staff.

He was thirteen, and probably could be left at home alone, but his father wanted him to be industrious, and to get off those games he had been wasting his time on. It never mattered if he had already finished his homework. It never mattered how good his grades were. He was always... deficient in some manner.

"Daryl, would you rather be doing something?"

He looked up to see the round face of Lieutenant Priori. His assigned babysitter. She came from Italy. He could hear the accent in her Japanese.

"School's out," he said. "I don't have homework today."

And he wouldn't for a while. He'd play on his phone, except that if his father caught him he'd probably restrict his access. It didn't look good, apparently, for the son of a general to be goofing off. But it was fine for him to be bored and staring out the window.

"Your father's going to be in meetings for another two hours at least. Perhaps you would like to pass the time in the simulator?"

"The simulator?"

"The Endlave simulator. We have a non-restricted version that the soldiers use for additional training or to pass the time. It's not a true recreation of the Endlave experience since the soldiers can program in some unrealistic parameters if they choose, some of them even custom design their own Endlaves, but it allows them to practice engagements as they wish."

"Is it like a game?" asked Daryl.

"I suppose it could be," said Priori, "but there will be other people in there with you and they'll probably be doing their own exercises. Pilots will use it for fun, but it's also practice for them."

"So this is what the Endlave pilots do. It's part of their job. It's _okay_ for them to do this."

She looked at him, puzzled, and said, "Yes, it's completely sanctioned."

Then his father the general shouldn't have reason to get mad at him. He would be constructive.

"I'll go," said Daryl.

-GC-

Daryl settled into a training pod, which would be completely enclosed as soon as the hatch above him came down, rather like some of the more extreme virtual reality simulators. He was surprised to find there was little in the way of controls. Just grips for his hands, and he looked at Priori questioningly.

She handed him a helmet. "Put this on," she said. "Though there are manual controls to an Endlave, most pilots use a neural connection. Since you haven't the training, neural is really the only way to go. The connection won't be as strong without a suit to go along with it, but I don't think we have one small enough for you."

He had only just started his growth spurt. His pants were a little short, but not by much. It would still take him a few years to catch up with his father. He hadn't been that tall as a kid, but given General Yan's height he imagined that he would eventually be taller than average once he finished growing.

Daryl slipped the helmet over his head. It wasn't a good fit, so Priori quickly came back with another one. This one was snug, and it made him feel just bit claustrophobic, but it wasn't painful, which to Priori meant that it was just right.

He shifted uncomfortably as she brought the canopy down over him. The interior was dark for a moment, and then a screen lit up before him, asking him to select his Endlave.

"You'll have a screen in front of you," said Priori. "In a real Endlave you would not have one and everything would be processed through the neural link, including everything you see, but this is just a simulation. Also, because it's a simulation, you will not be hurt if you're shot at."

Daryl reached out to the screen, and swiped through his options. The machines all looked awkward and clunky to him, almost like toys grown to a larger scale.

He did have a question though. "If you have the tech to allow people to mentally control the simulated Endlave, why not use the same tech for a real one?"

"It's not quite the same thing. The simulation will not give you the same feedback as a real machine. A real machine will strain if you ask too much of it. It will overheat. In a real machine you will become so attuned to it that you will notice maintenance work needed long before it ever shows up on a test. While we can simulate these things to some degree, the primary purpose of this device is to allow our pilots to practice without getting hurt.

"Also," she added brightly, "some of them fancy themselves engineers and they like to build their dream Endlaves and upload them for other people to try out."

"Is that why some of these look so weird?" said Daryl.

He knew that Endlaves had wheeled feet, to reduce the amount of energy needed for movement when speeding along city streets, but one of them looked like it was wearing a pair of tank treads, and it was no model he'd seen before.

"Exactly," said Priori. "For you though, since it's your first time, I think a standard Bellman trainer would be best. It's the simplest to operate. Movements are slow, but balance is good. The cannons are built right into the arms where the hands should be, so you won't have to worry about hand manipulation. Just put one foot in front of the other."

Daryl found the Bellman, which was appropriately bell-shaped, and frowned. It reminded him of robots from old science fiction movies. The Bellman had a wide base, barely separate enough to be called legs, and Priori was right in that it did not have hands. The wrists ended in firing barrels. A pilot would have to work to tip over in this thing, and maybe that was the point.

He selected it and the screen changed to a wrap around view. He was in some sort of container, with an opening to a cityscape.

"You're in the exercise field now," said Priori. He couldn't see her through the darkened canopy, but she must be monitoring him. "It's already in use, so you'll likely run into other pilots in training. Free exercise is what's currently on the schedule, so you can try walking your Endlave around outside and not worry about disrupting anything."

"How do I do that?" asked Daryl.

"Think your way through it. The Bellman is a trainer so it's a little stiff, but you shouldn't fall. Pretend you're roller skating, but your legs have a few kilos of weight around them."

He shuffled his feet inside the pod, sliding one leg forward and then the other, and feeling kind of silly at the same time, but the Bellman started a slow, bobbing glide. That wasn't so hard.

"Practiced pilots don't need to do the movements physically anymore," said Priori. "The signal is picked up by the neural sync between pilot and Endlave, and the vehicle will move in place of the pilot's own body. A pilot doesn't even see through a screen like you are now. Most of them close their eyes, because their visuals are sent directly to the brain."

That was crazy. Piloting with their eyes closed?

Daryl rolled a little further out into the streets, turning his head from side to side. As he did, the view on the wrap around screen changed, mimicking his movements. Another Endlave leaned out from behind a building to his left. He barely noticed it before his display lit up, flashing red, and then he found himself in darkness again with only the Endlave selection screen.

"Looks like someone got you," said Priori, her voice light.

"That wasn't fair!" he said. "I barely walked outside."

"This is free for all training." He could hear the shrug in her voice. "No one knows you're a kid in the simulator. But if you're wondering what combat's like, it's a lot like this. No one's going to cut you any slack."

"Is he going to be waiting for me if I go back in?"

"Maybe, but you can select a different spawn point. If you were practicing evading ambushes you'd probably want to keep spawning into the same location while your partner tries to catch you. If you want to go somewhere else..."

Daryl didn't wait for her to finish. He found the spawn point changer, and selected a tight location in in the cityscape, one where there was little place to hide. Enemies would only be able to come at him from one of two directions.

He lasted perhaps thirty seconds this time, though he did figure out how to fire his cannons without being prompted.

"This isn't fair," he grumbled, flipping through the Endlave selection screen.

"This is your first time in the simulator. You can't expect to do well against practiced pilots."

He tried a different Endlave, one that looked sleek and light, like it balanced on a pair of razors.

Daryl fell over on his first step. He probably only lasted the two minutes that he did because his Endlave was face down on the ground where no one expected to find a combatant.

By his fourth attempt, the other pilots seemed to have realized they had a complete novice on their hands and were mostly leaving alone any awkward Endlave that stumbled into view. Mostly.

There was one jerk still taking potshots at him.

"You can quit if you want," said Priori. "I can tell you're getting frustrated, and I just wanted you to have something to do. I don't want the general to think his son has been getting picked on all afternoon."

His father wouldn't care.

Daryl swiped through the Endlaves, looking for something, anything that he might be able to use to stand up against the other pilots. It couldn't be top heavy. He didn't have the balance yet. But it couldn't be so so slow that he was walking with cement blocks around his feet. None of the other pilots used the Bellman, and with good reason. Real pilots didn't fight in trainers.

Then his eyes fell on an unusual Endlave in that it did _not_ have wheels. Rather, it had four legs and a pair of arms. Daryl latched on to it immediately. He wouldn't have to worry about balancing on a pair of skates. He would not have to worry about being top heavy, with a torso planted on top of so many lower limbs.

Daryl selected it and plunged back into the cityscape. This Endlave was a struggle. He flailed a leg, and one of the four moved, and that's when he realized there was a problem with his mental imaging. He only had two legs, but the base had four. With the arms that gave the Endlave a total of six limbs.

Well, he could fix that... After all, Lieutenant Priori had said that real pilots didn't move their limbs when they moved their vehicles, so he should be able to move a limb he didn't have. He just needed to think his way through it.

He forced his own legs into the rear set and reached forward with an arm. The front legs wouldn't move at first, but he tried picturing them linked with his own arms, moving in sync together. He'd seen animals move like that; cats, horses. Both legs on one side of the body moved as one.

The Endlave took a step, then another. He could see a cluster of the other Endlaves ahead, mostly ignoring him, but there was still that one punk. That one Endlave was turning to look at him.

Daryl took a step forward, then he realized he could not fire if he was swinging his arms and his front legs at the same time. But he did not fall over. Even with one leg in midair, the other three were planted safely on the ground. He was right in that he would not have balance problems in this.

But he needed to desync his arms from the front legs. If he wanted to fight, he needed to move the four legs independent of his arms.

_Pretend_, he told himself. _Pretend you have another set of legs. Make them move._

And he shifted a step, shaky.

Now the other Endlaves were turning to look at him. One of them held up a hand. The rowdy Endlave looked at the one with the signal and then turned back to Daryl. It did not raise its weapon.

Daryl tried to raise his own, but his Endlave sagged in place. It was so hard to move six limbs. He found himself tired, very tired.

A voice called out through a speaker. "Lieutenant Priori. Who's in that training pod?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Welcome to my second Guilty Crown fanfic. When I wrote _Little Heart_ I brainstormed a lot of Daryl's background and how he turned into the kind of person he was in Guilty Crown. There is a lot of backstory I created that ended up having little to no place in the story, particularly involving his military training._

_Though this is a prequel_,_ you will not need to read the earlier fic since this is as much a prequel to the anime series as it is my fanfic and is much different in nature. _Little Heart_ is a romance with zero action scenes, whereas _Imperfectly Forged_ is more of a drama._

_I realize the Daryl that starts this story might not be the Daryl you know in that he's rather timid, but he will be quite familiar by the end._ _If you are a new reader to my work, I typically post new chapters once a week on Saturday nights/Sunday mornings depending on your time zone._


	2. Chapter 2: Mining the Source

Chapter 2: Mining the Source

_ "Colonel, tell me why the Spectre was in a training simulator that anyone on an international base could access."_

_ "Engineers and pilots frequently drop in prototypes made on their own free time. Most of the machines are failures, but the soldiers have fun with it. It is the most expedient way to test our pilot base without drawing attention and the schematics themselves are encrypted. There is little chance that anyone would take the Spectre seriously should it leak to the outside, especially given its poor sync performance. As it is, we've already had sixteen other pilots make simulator attempts to move it and none of them could manage a step, even those entirely clothed in neural suits."_

_ "And you're telling me that General Yan's thirteen-year-old kid moved it, all six limbs, without one at all?"_

_ "Yes, general."_

_ "Hmph. If he was just a little older... But, it can't be helped. Even at thirteen he's better than nothing."_

_ "I have already reached out to General Yan. He is agreeable."_

_ "Tough bastard. He really doesn't care even though it's his own son."_

-GC-

Daryl stared at his father from the seat next to him in the GHQ's car. Their driver was taking them home after another series of meetings, leaving General Yan free to use his tablet for business that yet to be completed. But it did not stop him from talking to Daryl, telling him with no preamble, just what would happen to him in a few short weeks.

"Why am I going back to school in the United States?"

Daryl had horrible images of a boarding school, one for unruly kids. And though he did not always get along with his father, he never thought himself the type to misbehave. He grumbled, but he didn't kick, he didn't throw tantrums.

"Someone back at the Pentagon liked what you did in that Endlave simulator last month," said his father, not even looking up form his screen.

"But I just died. I got shot at a lot, because I wasn't any good."

"It doesn't matter. I received a special request to send you to the Endlave Academy of the United States Army."

Daryl ran the name through his memory, knowing that he'd heard the name before. "The Endlave Academy? Wait. That can't be right! That's officer school."

General Yan grunted. "It is."

"But I'm _thirteen_."

"So you are."

"How am I supposed to go to the academy? I haven't even started high school."

"You're a bright kid. You'll manage."

Daryl settled back in his seat, uncertain, but unwilling to argue. It felt like faint praise, but it was praise, wasn't it? His father called him bright. But could he really go to the academy?

Even if he got good grades, it wasn't like he was consistently top of his class. He knew one kid who was really smart, and Daryl knew he wasn't in the same league as him. There was good in school, and then there were kids who won awards in national competitions.

"Dad, how soon do they want me?"

"CBT already started. That's cadet basic training, to you. You're behind schedule for the current year. But normal classes begin in August, just like at West Point."

That's where his father had gone to college. The Endlave Academy branched out from there when the military realized that Endlave pilots needed more specialized training, and a larger area in which to practice.

"You'll probably fly out in a week or two," said his father.

Right before his birthday then. He would have his fourteenth birthday and his father wouldn't even be around. Instead Daryl would be stuck by himself in a country he hadn't seen in three and a half years, in a training academy he had never seen. But there was no changing his father's mind. He knew that from years of trying. He couldn't ask to stay long enough for his birthday.

But he could still ask for something else.

"Before I go, Dad, can I get an early birthday present?"

His father blinked, as if confused, and actually turned away from his tablet. "Oh, is it that time already?"

"It's August, Dad. My birthday is the 23rd."

Daryl hated reminding him, but if he didn't, his father never remembered.

General Yan sighed. "So it is. What do you want?"

"Can we go out to eat dim sum? We haven't had any since... well, a long time."

He was going to say since his mom died, but he knew that his father had not forgiven her, and he was afraid any reminder of her would ruin his chances at a last meal as a family. Daryl wished his father had believed her, that Daryl was really his son. The general was the only father he knew, and he tried being a good kid. Even this stuff with the academy... Daryl would go. He could not shame his father by running away.

When his father said nothing, Daryl added, "I just want it to be like when we were back in the US, and we used to eat with Grandma. I'm getting older now. I don't need toys anymore..."

His voice sounded so small. It hadn't cracked yet, and some of his classmates had teased him about that. He still sounded like a kid.

"I suppose we have time for that," said his father. "We're busy on base setting up a new enforcement unit, but I should be able to block out a few hours. I'll discuss with my secretary."

"Please," said Daryl.

The general frowned. "Now is not the time to be selfish, Daryl. You know the unrest has been growing in Japan. The Japanese are not happy with the quarantine. There have been riots, and we have to be wary of the possibility of an armed response. If the Apocalypse Virus ever manages to leave Japan..."

It would be bad. "I know," said Daryl, "but if you can... I don't know when I'll see you again." He wasn't certain his father would bring him home for school breaks. Not when the overseas flights took so long, and might not even coincide with times his father was free. "It probably wouldn't be until next summer."

"The academy runs through the summer," said his father, turning back to his tablet.

All the more reason to try to be a family, just one more time. But Daryl kept his thoughts to himself.

-GC-

Over the next week Daryl found himself tested in ways that hardly mattered before. The US component of the GHQ ran him through a battery of physical tests; how fast he could run, how many pull-ups could he do, how fast could he swim. They told him that he was being given a waiver for basic training, since he was joining the class late, and because of his age.

They could not expect a thirteen-year-old to keep a physical pace with students four years his senior, but neither could they let any lack of physical fitness slide. He would be graded, just to a lower standard, with the expectation that he would maintain and grow his fitness as he aged.

The army demanded more than any of his P.E. classes at school, and Daryl had not been a slouch on the soccer field.

They also ran him through a psych test, telling them that because of his age they required a psychological profile to better help him adapt to his new surroundings. Unlike the physical tests, he had no idea what his results were or what anyone thought of them. All he could safely assume was that no one was overly disappointed in them because his father gave no indication that his trip to the academy was being cancelled.

The day before he was scheduled to fly out, his father took him out to dim sum.

General Yan was late, and Daryl had to plead with his secretary over the phone to get his father out of a meeting. But at least he came. He made no apologies, and Daryl knew better than to ask for one. The important thing was that they were actually together, going to eat.

His father took him to Yokohama, the heart of Japan's Chinese community, where they could still get Cantonese style cooking like his family had eaten. Dim sum always made Daryl think of family, of the years when his father and mother at least pretended to get along, for the sake of his paternal grandmother, who was unaware of the rift between her son and his wife.

Sitting in the restaurant, mouth watering as small trays of dumplings and cakes came out, Daryl could pretend that his family was no different from any other.

But this day it was only him and his father.

The restaurant his father chose was fancy and probably overpriced, but his father was a general. He could afford it. And if anyone asked where they had gone, he could name the place and someone would tell Daryl how fortunate he was that his father had taken him to such a nice place for lunch.

Daryl ate his favorite shrimp dumplings, two plates of them as though he would never get enough, and washed them down with tea before moving on to a fried turnip cake.

"You eat a lot more now," said his father, watching him.

"I'm growing," said Daryl, careful, uncertain how much of an answer his father really wanted.

"Yes." His father's voice was slow, odd. "I remember when I was your age. I was happy to be eating grown-up sized meals, more than grown-ups. I could eat more than both my parents together."

Daryl did not think he was quite that hungry, but he felt a happy stir in his belly that had nothing to do with the food. Anything he had in common with his father was good.

"Dad, when I graduate from the Endlave Academy," —it had to be _when_, there was no room for _if_— "do you think I could serve under you? Here? At the GHQ?"

His father's face darkened, and he said, "Doubtful."

"I'll do my best, Dad. I won't let being younger stop me."

He could hear his voice shake. He did not want to think his father was writing off his performance already, even if he was going to be younger, even if he was terrified and had no idea how he was going to survive the next four years.

"I know, Daryl. Failing will make many people unhappy, not just me."

Daryl stared at him, confused, and his father did not meet his eyes, instead using his chopsticks to add a pork bun to his plate. When the general did not elaborate, Daryl sullenly stuffed a dumpling in his own mouth.

"Are you packed yet?" asked his father.

"Everything is ready," said Daryl, looking down at his plate. "I'll just put few things in my bag tomorrow morning and I'll be good to go."

He would not be allowed to bring much more than the clothes he wore. Packing had been depressingly simple. He had never owned much to begin with, being an army brat always moving to follow his father's work, but the idea that all he could bring would fit into a suitcase little bigger than a backpack...

"I'll have the driver drop you off," said his father.

"You're not coming to the airport?"

"I have a meeting tomorrow morning, and I think you're old enough to fly on your own now. You'll have to get used to being independent. No one's going to baby you at the academy."

Of course not, but he was only thirteen, _almost_ fourteen.

"A military attache will be picking you up at LAX." Los Angeles International Airport. The Endlave Academy was located in the California desert, where there was room for large machines to thrash about without running into civilians. "You won't have to worry about finding the base on your own, and it would probably be better if you didn't. It's not an easy ride from the airport, not like it is here in Tokyo."

"Is there someone I can call if I don't see anyone?"

His father huffed. "Yeah, I'll look it up when I get back to base. You should be in good hands though. They _are_ very interested in training you."

* * *

><p><em>AN: As I established in _Little Heart_, Daryl and his father are Chinese American, Yan being a Chinese last name. And yeah, his father is a bit of a jerk. I don't think he's intentionally cruel, we see his reaction in the anime when Daryl spots him kissing his secretary (who is different from the one mentioned in this chapter, the one in the anime comes along at a later date), and he clearly means to explain himself, but Daryl just isn't high on his list of priorities. I think of General Yan as someone a little too absorbed in his work to do more than reluctantly care for a boy who might not be his. He'll do it, because it's wrong to do otherwise, but his doubt and work prevents him from doing more than the minimum._


	3. Chapter 3: Transport

Chapter 3: Transport

_"I hope we aren't wasting our time with this, colonel. The psych exam tells us that the boy suffers from a severe need for approval. He's not gonna get that as kid among men in the academy. Even if he manages to hang on until graduation, he's going to have to work twice as hard as any other officer to command the respect of his soldiers."_

_ "But it's not the approval of just anyone that he wants, sir. It's his father. We can use that as a motivator."_

_ "General Yan doesn't give a crap or this kid wouldn't want his approval so bad."_

_ "General Yan is not here, and is unlikely to visit his son the entire time he is at the academy. We can convince Daryl, subtly of course, that his performance here will improve his relationship with his father, and General Yan can be persuaded to offer encouragement if presented in the right light."_

_ "That's going to require considerable hands on effort."_

_ "The Spectre program is my responsibility. You can leave that to me. I intend to serve as Daryl's handler throughout his training. There is no way he will manage without someone standing in his corner."_

_ "You're not in his corner, colonel. You're a smith trying to make something out of a lump of iron."_

_ "I know, sir. But he does not."_

-GC-

Daryl hated airplanes more than he remembered. He hated being crammed in so closely with other people. He hated how the overweight man next to him spilled into his seat like a blob of jelly.

The fat man was probably crawling with germs, and Daryl couldn't get away. He was stuck on that plane for over half a day, and even though he got his last shot to stave off the Apocalypse Virus just before leaving, there was no convincing himself that the vaccine worked on anyone else on the airplane.

It did not help that his neighbor genuinely _was_ sick with something. He kept sniffling and clearing his throat. Oh why did anyone let this person fly?

Daryl's disposition did not get any better when they landed and the entire plane was put in quarantine. It was standard procedure for all flights coming out of Japan, from what he was told, but that also told him that vaccines weren't enough. People were afraid. They were genuinely afraid that the virus would slip through and it would escape Japan.

He didn't want to die to the virus. He didn't. If he could just stay away from people... If they just wouldn't touch him...

Quarantine only lasted a day, and then he and the other passengers were released to the airport terminal where they could obtain transportation or meet friends and relatives who had come to pick them up. Daryl knew that his escort would be waiting for him near the loading zones, but probably indoors rather than in a parked car, since they had never met before.

He had been to LAX years ago when his family had flown out to Japan, but he did not really remember it. Most jarring was how much English was being spoken. It wasn't as though he had ever forgotten how to speak. He and his father usually spoke English to each other, as did quite a few people on base, but wasn't quite at this level.

There.

Near the sliding doors to the outside he spotted a women holding a sign with his name, "Daryl Yan." She was in her service uniform, which was meant to be worn day to day, short-sleeved, and did not have all the fancy bars and badges of service. But that did not mean there was no indication of rank.

Daryl swallowed, noting the silver oak leaves that marked her as a lieutenant colonel. That was rank. She was a field officer. Why the hell had they sent a colonel out here? He was just a kid. Maybe a captain would have been fine if they were worried. At the GHQ his own father always left him in the care of lieutenants.

He walked up to her, pulling his small suitcase behind him. "Hello? I'm Daryl Yan." He stood up straight and gave her his best salute. That was one thing he liked about the military. He didn't have to shake hands for a greeting.

She appraised Daryl, not frowning, but neither did she smile. He was not sure of her age. She did not appear to be particularly old in that her face was not wrinkled, but he did not think she was anywhere close to a fresh graduate of the academy either.

"At ease, cadet," she said. "I am Lieutenant Colonel Lyrica Brandt, assigned to oversee your adjustment to life at the Endlave Academy of the United States Army."

Daryl let his hand fall to his side. "My father said that classes have already started—sir," he added hastily.

"Correct. CBT is done and squads have already been assigned. I understand you meet the athletics requirements that have been scaled down by our admissions team." Colonel Brandt frowned. "I think they may have been too easy on you. We can remedy that as your training continues. Come."

She walked out of the terminal and he followed meekly behind, the wheels of his suitcase complaining in a way that he could not.

The colonel's car was a modest four door sedan. Daryl did not know if this was her personal one or one that belonged to the army, and he did not ask. It was black and so empty inside that even the floor mats seemed out of place. Brandt placed his suitcase in the trunk and Daryl took the passenger seat in front alongside her.

"You're quiet," she said.

"I am just trying to adjust... sir."

"Do you miss your father?"

Daryl swallowed. "Yes."

He didn't want to be seen as weak, but he couldn't lie about that. If he tried he might be able to hide it for a few weeks, a few months, but it would eventually come out. Better that the army knows it now. Maybe they would change their mind and decide he wasn't ready. But then his father would be disappointed, that the army wasted thousands of dollars flying out a son that turned out to be untrainable.

"Relax," said the colonel, though it was clear from her voice that it was a command. She started up the car and glanced over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking space. "While fear is good in a soldier, you're far too afraid. Fear should be a motivator, not an inhibitor."

She took them out of the airport parking lot and on to the highway, heading north. The midday sun was overhead.

"Can I ask why I'm being trained now? I'm not old enough," said Daryl. He did not append "sir" this time, afraid using it too often might be overkill.

Brandt did not take her eyes off the road. "How much do you know about Endlaves?"

"They're essentially piloted robots, on wheels, but the pilot does it remotely. There's a neural link between the pilot and the Endlave so that when the pilot wants to move an arm or a leg, the Endlave does it."

"Do you know any of the training required for an Endlave?"

Daryl shook his head. "Not really."

"Endlaves are more difficult to interface with than most people realize. Not everyone can think a machine into motion, not with the level of synchronization we require, because even though an Endlave resembles a human body with two arms and two legs, many of them have a vehicle mode and you may have noticed that they don't walk. They skate."

"I noticed," he said.

"Training needs to begin early while the mind is flexible," said Brandt. "The younger the better, but of course we want to make certain that our future officers have the maturity required to conduct themselves appropriately. Recent high school graduates are our preference. We do not admit any candidates to our officer program who are older than twenty, and even then they tend not to do as well as pilots, though they may still be remarkable tacticians."

That could explain why they wanted him so young, but... "But I haven't started high school."

"We will bring you up to speed on whatever you need to know in order to succeed," said the colonel. "You may find that high school is not as necessary for college preparation as you thought. I've seen your transcripts and I think that with proper application you'll make it."

"Really?"

She nodded. "We would not have brought you over here if we expected that you would fail."

That was... reassuring. And it made sense. Daryl felt a little better.

"While you are here, it will be my job to look out for you," said Brandt. "I will not be your mother, but if you find yourself needing guidance I will be available to serve as both counselor and advisor. I hope you will not hesitate to let me know of any issues you have."

"I won't," said Daryl quickly.

Maybe it would not be too bad, if the army had seen fit to assign a guide to him. But despite the offer, he hoped he would not have to call on her often. A lieutenant colonel must have an awful lot of duties, and he did not want her to resent having to look after him.

"Do you have questions, cadet?"

"You had mentioned something earlier about squads having been assigned."

"Correct," she said. "All incoming cadets are assigned to squads for training. When you are not in classes related to your chosen specialization, you will be learning with your squad, eating with your squad, practicing with your squad, and bunking with your squad."

Daryl pictured a long room full of a lot of older teenagers.

"Each CBT there are always a few cadets who wash out. We've selected your roommate from among those with an open space. He's knows that he is getting a latecomer as a replacement, though we are leaving the details of your introduction and how much you wish to share to the both of you."

"Only one roommate?" said Daryl.

"This is an officer academy, not boot camp," said Brandt, no doubt picking up on what Daryl had in mind. "Each cadet is given one or two roommates to bunk with depending on the size of the room they're assigned."

He hoped he would get along with his roommate.

"Sir?" he asked. "Do you think I would get picked on for my age?"

"I'm not going to lie and say you will automatically fit in," said the colonel. "You may have trouble adjusting, but all the students in your year will be going through the same thing, regardless of age. I trust your classmates will conduct themselves as befitting an officer cadet in the United States military and that you will do that same."

He decided that even though Colonel Brandt was blunt and did not smile, he could probably trust what she said. She seemed honest, pragmatic even about what he would face. But still...

"I know this is may be a childish request, sir, but may I ask?"

Brandt was silent for a long while, and Daryl did not dare repeat his question. Finally she said, "Speak."

"It's... It's going to be my birthday tomorrow, and this is the first time I've been away from my father. I don't know anyone at the academy yet, and..."

"If you're expecting that I will give you cake and presents, I am not here for that," said Brandt, her voice sharp.

"I know, sir, and I'm not expecting that!" Daryl clenched his hands, tightening his resolve. "But I have a lot of learn and a lot to catch up on. If it's possible, could we talk? And being my birthday... it seems a good excuse..."

"Don't excuse your behavior, Daryl Yan." He flinched as she used his full name. "You need to learn to take responsibility for your actions. I suppose it would be acceptable for me to brief you on expectations, and if your birthday is as soon as tomorrow it is likely as good a time as any to do so. It will also give me the opportunity to properly assess you as well. A person can only learn so much from personnel reports."

Daryl remained silent the rest of the trip out, reluctant to push for more. She would speak to him later, and he would not have to spend his birthday by himself. He did not know yet if he would be comfortable talking with his roommate. He didn't pay the high school kids any mind when he going to class back on base, and they had no reason to pay attention to him either.

He wished he was a little taller, that his voice was deeper. If he had hit an early growth spurt then maybe he could be mistaken for being older than he was.

Gradually, the Los Angeles cityscape fell away, revealing first mountains, and then kilometers of desert. No, miles, Daryl told himself. They didn't use metric in the United States.

This barren land would be his home for the next four years. He supposed he would have to get used to it.

Colonel Brandt turned off the highway and down an unmarked service road that was at least paved even if it was not named. A set of gray buildings emerged in the distance, growing closer, and there was the gleam of metal. He could see clouds of dust, and the hazy shimmer of a mirage to the left of base. Something was moving out there. Lots of things. Endlaves?

The colonel drove up to the guardhouse and rolled down the window. She set her hand on a reader and announced herself. "Lieutenant Colonel Lyrica Brandt with new student Daryl Yan. He has special clearance GC053."

The soldier in the guardhouse checked the monitor at his station, looked at the colonel, looked at Daryl, and said, "Welcome back, sir. If you'll just give me a moment..." He turned back to look at something inside the guardhouse and then handed a plastic badge with Daryl's photograph to the colonel. "For the new cadet until he's properly fitted."

Brandt handed it to Daryl and drove through as soon as the guard rail came up. She steered the car towards a large beige building with a number of small, regularly spaced windows on what appeared to be each of three floors.

"This is your dorm," said Brandt. "You're on the second floor, room 213. Your temporary badge will let you in, cover your meals, and well as give you access to all the necessary parts of academy grounds until you get your real one, which will be integrated as part of your uniform. Once you're in your room you'll find your student welcome packet on your desk. I'll send you a message for dinner tomorrow."

* * *

><p><em>AN: We finally meet Lieutenant Colonel Lyrica Brandt, who if you have not picked up, is one of the voices at the start of each chapter. We'll be seeing a lot of her throughout the story. As you can probably guess, most of the cast will be original since the story is taking place in the US._

_Thanks a lot, Kurota Haruka, for noticing the research! I feel a little silly at times doing so much for a fanfic, but I like to think that is pays off with the readers. I'm always impressed with an anime when people can identify the type of real world handgun a character is using or the animators show they actually know CPR. It really adds something._


	4. Chapter 4: Unpacking

Chapter 4: Unpacking

_"I'm afraid he has not left me with a favorable impression. He is timid, certainly, and I knew that from his psych eval, but where is the spark? Where is the pilot who was so determined to fight that he made an Endlave move that no one else had successfully commanded? It's frustrating. I'm thinking we should expand the number of simulators offering the Spectre for selection, see if we can scare up another pilot."_

_ "I have no objections that I have not already voiced, colonel, but we have to operate under the assumption that we might _not_ find any more. If Daryl Yan finishes his stint in the academy before we find more, he may end up the sole operator of a Spectre Endlave. If not, then he can still serve as an officer in a Spectre unit."_

_ "Yes, sir."_

_ "Related to that, do you think he can handle an accelerated timetable, get him a commission sooner? I don't think we can wait four years."_

_ "We can throw him in an Endlave his first day of class, but we can't graduate him without a degree. We wanted him as an officer, not enlisted. His commission has to be honestly earned, or the academy risks its reputation. Worse, he'll consider himself a sham."_

_ "But if he _can_ earn one faster... Colonel, having a pilot for the Spectre could be the difference between a costly land war and a decisive strike that ends the war before it begins. The Russians don't know we're aware of the facility in the Ural Mountains."_

_ "How accelerated are we talking?"_

_ "Halve his time there. Two years. And even that might not be fast enough."_

-GC-

Daryl's roommate was not in his room when he arrived, but he could tell well enough where he would sleep. The top bunk was fixed straighter than any bed he'd ever seen at home, but the bottom one did not have sheets stretched over the mattress at all. They were still neatly folded, waiting to be used.

Now that he was here, he would have to make his own bed, but that did not bother him. He had made his own bed since he was in kindergarten. His mother had proudly called him responsible. His father just said that's what a kid was supposed to do.

The room had two wardrobes for storage, bolted to the wall, and he opened the nearest one to find a few cleanly pressed shirts and what appeared to be a pair of athletic sweats with the words Endlave Academy emblazoned on the chest and legs. Clearly the military was not big on selection.

He opened the second wardrobe, which was bare, and set his suitcase at the bottom inside. There was hardly anything to unpack; an alarm clock, a jacket for the cold, spare underwear and socks, a comb, toothbrush and toothpaste. He was not allowed to keep a phone. The academy was not the outside world and he would be allowed no distractions from without. Now that he was here, he would get his own set of uniforms soon, and that would be all he would wear.

The welcome packet was on his desk as the colonel said; a tablet for classwork and a sheet of paper with his registration information. Freshmen orientation had already passed along with CBT. The school year proper would begin next Monday, at 5:00am.

Daryl groaned.

His classes were already laid out for him, starting at 8am, after morning exercise, after something called personal maintenance, and after breakfast. He did not know if classes were identical for all freshmen, but no one had spoken to him about what he wished to take.

He fitted the sheets on his bed and lacking a shelf, he put his alarm clock on the empty space near his pillow. Then he registered his tablet to himself, and started flipping through his assigned texts for the semester.

Daryl was not sure he could do it. The math looked foreign, strange. Essays, well, he probably could handle that. Science. That was just memorization, right?

Then he realized that it was getting late, the sun was low in the sky, and he had not yet eaten dinner. The schedule said that dinner started at...

Crap. He was already late, and he didn't doubt they would stop serving food precisely on schedule.

He double-checked that he still had his temporary badge clipped to his shirt and jogged out into the hall, tablet tucked under one arm with a map to the academy mess on screen. Twenty minutes left. It didn't look that far away, but he would still have to stand in line, and then he would have to eat, and he was sure they would chase everyone out at the end of dinner hour. This was the army!

They probably wouldn't like him running in the halls either, but he couldn't miss dinner. Surely they could excuse that. He was only thirteen and he just got here.

No one stopped him along the way, but he got a funny look from the nearest cadet as he grabbed a tray and threw himself in line behind him. Some of the food stations were already shutting down, but Daryl managed to get a plate of pulled pork and mashed potatoes. It was not what he was used to eating, but he was not in a position to have made much selection. At least he wouldn't go to sleep hungry.

"Should you really be by yourself?" asked the cadet in front of him.

"I haven't met anyone yet," said Daryl. "I just got here this afternoon."

"Who are you visiting?"

"I'm not. I'm... I'm a cadet. I'm starting late."

"No shit, really? I thought you were still in high school."

At least the other cadet thought he _belonged_ in high school. Just because he would have been a freshman under the US system this school year didn't mean that he necessarily looked the part.

"Yeah, I probably should be, but..." Daryl shrugged.

"What do you mean you should be?"

"Well, I was kinda drafted. So I skipped high school, and they put me here."

The cadet squinted at him, as though Daryl might disappear if he looked hard enough. "Seriously? You're not screwing with me?"

"No. I..."

Daryl could feel his skin crawl, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, and the cadet in front of him was not the only one watching. A few of the others nearby had turned to look at him. Daryl peered around the cafeteria, hoping to find a good place in a corner to sit, where he could put his back to everyone else and just eat. He didn't have much time left.

"I _thought_ you sounded like a kid, but you really skipped in here? You were _drafted_?" The cadet shook his head, incredulous. "Do you know how fucking competitive it is to get in EAUSA?"

Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. His voice needed to break, dammit. The cadet had a good six or seven inches on him. But he was an adult, right? Seventeen at youngest. Adults didn't pick fights with kids.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," said Daryl, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I'm just going to go eat. It... It's your turn."

They had come to the end of the cafeteria line and it was the other cadet's turn to have his badge scanned by the cashier. As soon as Daryl had his own dinner cleared, he hurried to an open space he had found while still in line.

But as soon as he set his tray down someone lifted their head and said, "Hey, this space is for firsties! Plebes are at that end of the room."

Chagrined, and not entirely sure what a plebe was other than he must be one of them, Daryl headed in the indicated direction, hunting for an open space and trying not to think about how much time he had remaining to eat.

He did notice though, as he hustled through the mess, that the cadets where he was previously looked older on the whole than the ones he was heading to. The insignias on their sleeves were different too. The mess was actually divided into four quadrants, one for each of the years. Cadets ate with their peers. Now he understood.

Daryl found an open space on a bench between two cadets who were not in conversation with each other. Sucking in a deep breath, he asked, "Is this seat taken?"

And when it was not, he sat down and ate, not bothering to introduce himself or ask who they were. It would be better if he just pretended to be a visitor. And if anyone else asked, he was not supposed to be starting high school.

-GC-

When Daryl got back to his room, his roommate was already there. He had some faint fuzz on his chin, but otherwise looked very much a teenager. His brown hair was cut short, like all the cadets, and he was sitting on his bunk, back against the wall, with his tablet on his knees.

"Stayed until the bell didn't you," said his roommate.

"What?" Then Daryl remembered the bell, signaling the end of dinner. He'd managed to gulp everything down in time, though he felt a bit sick about it. He needed more water, or tea. "Yeah," he admitted.

"So what makes you so unusual? I mean, it's strange enough getting someone new to the academy _after_ CBT, but for you to skip high school..."

"Ah..." Well, at least his roommate didn't seem upset with him. "I piloted an Endlave in a simulator... and that seems to have impressed someone."

His roommate snorted. "We've all piloted an Endlave in a simulator. It's a basic qualification to get in here. I mean, you must have done something more than that. Are you some kind of ace?"

Daryl thought back on his defeats in the simulator and "ace" was one of the last words he would have used to describe himself. "I wouldn't say so."

"Still, I'm not stupid like some of those lugheads down there. If you got skipped in, someone's pulling strings for you. What's your name?"

"Daryl Yan."

"Conner Williams. I see you've figured out the wardrobe and the desks on your own. Hope you don't mind bottom, but I did get here first."

Daryl had no argument with that. Privately he thought he might have liked the top bunk better, easier to hide, but he would not have asked to dislodge Conner even if his roommate had not said a word.

"Is there anything I should know that's not in my welcome packet?"

"Waaaaaaay too much," said Conner, flopping over on his bed. "I haven't looked at that packet since June. You might want to consider joining some extracurricular activities though. You might not think it since we're a military academy, but we've got a student paper, a band, even a basketball team. That's what one of the firsties told me. She said it helps people stop cracking if they have something to do besides training exercises and classes."

"Someone in the cafeteria said that to me. What's a firstie?"

"The first class cadets. What you would call a senior at other colleges. We're fourth class; plebes."

Well, that was confusing. Other schools counted by years spent. The academy counted by rank. Daryl supposed it made sense though, in the same way that a second lieutenant was lower ranked than a first lieutenant.

"Are the clubs still taking new members?" asked Daryl. From what he remembered of schools in Japan, club rosters tended to become set after the start of the school year.

"Everyone was too busy during CBT. Now that it's over, _now_ is the time to go join something."

"That sounds like a good idea."

Perhaps this day had not gone as terribly as it could have. He had a colonel for an advisor, and his roommate was not a jerk. The first day of class was Monday, just after the weekend, and he would give it his best shot.

He hoped the colonel would honor her word about his birthday. She was a stranger, but it would be nice to know that he mattered enough for her to show. He thought about telling Conner, but wondered if that would come off too childish.

"Conner, do you know where I'm supposed to get my uniforms?"

His roommate grunted and shifted around on the top bunk, where Daryl could no longer see him. "There's a quartermaster for the academy. I guess they'll come from him. They gave me mine my first day here, but maybe with you coming in late no one told him? I can't imagine they would want you running around in your civvies."

Not to mention that Daryl _hadn't_ brought a full change of clothes with him, with the understanding he was not allowed to.

"You don't think they're going to wait until Monday, do you?"

"Don't worry too much about it," said Conner. "The academy doesn't shut down just because it's the weekend. We can head down to the shop after breakfast tomorrow."

* * *

><p><em>AN: The real world military tends to be very vulgar. To keep a teen rating this is going to be scaled down in _Imperfectly Forged_, though occasional expletives might be used (as in this chapter). Daryl's academy experience will also move more into the realm of fiction from here on out._

_I watched _Fafner: Dead Aggressor_ recently and it also features mecha with a neural link to its pilots. The show is quite a bit different from _Guilty Crown_ in that there's a lot of focus on what war does both to the pilots and their families_,_ but one of the things the Fafners have that the Endlaves don't is a nerve block! Pilot starts screaming in pain? The person monitoring them cuts off the connection to the damaged part of the mecha so the pilot can recuperate. I would have liked to incorporate a similar mechanic in _Imperfectly Forged_, but being that this is a prequel that's not an option. Maybe another time._


	5. Chapter 5: Assessment

Chapter 5: Assessment

_ "Sorry, lieutenant, I can't come in this evening. I already have plans."_

_ "Is something the matter, colonel?"_

_ "I'm having a meeting with the new prospect."_

_ "I heard he had a rough time in the mess last night."_

_ "He did. I saw the vid. We can't have that happen again."_

_ "So you're going to talk to him?"_

_ "You could say that."_

-GC-

The next morning, Conner took Daryl to the Shop, which Daryl soon realized was not actually a store so much as the supply depot for the academy. Money was not needed on academy grounds. Everything was provided, so shopping, such as it was, was simply making an appropriate requisition and signing for it.

It turned out that someone had made a mistake confusing his arrival date with his first day of class, and if Daryl had not come down himself, his uniforms would _not_ have been delivered to his dorm room until Monday as he had feared.

"Someone's doing push-ups," Conner joked.

But his uniforms were ready. They had his measurements from his physical and his new clothes were neatly covered in protective plastic for him to bring back to his room.

"You'll want to take them," said Conner. "The first set is paid for, but if you need replacements, they come out of your own pocket. Not that you'd notice."

"What do you mean?" asked Daryl. He had folded over the uniforms to make them easier to carry and held them bundled close to his chest.

"Even if you're still in school, you're drawing a paycheck now. You can't access it, but it's filling up an account that will be released to you when you graduate. Makes sense, since the army owns our asses."

Daryl supposed it did. He understood now that plebes, the freshmen class, were not allowed to leave campus their first year. Only upperclassmen could even own cars. Not that there was really anyplace nearby to go in the middle of the desert. Maybe there was a diner nearby, for people on cross country road trips. He'd gone on one in kindergarten, when his father was not so highly ranked.

"What happens if you don't graduate?" he asked.

Conner shrugged. "I guess they'll give it to you when you bail, but it's not going to be worth much. You'd probably get better working fast food. It's really just a stipend. Not like we're doing full time work right now. Are you thinking you're not ready for this?"

"I'm going to do my best," said Daryl, perhaps a little too forcefully.

"Hey, I get that. You can't be just any high school kid if you got bumped in early." Conner looked him over. "How old are you anyway?"

"Fourteen," said Daryl, glad that he could say that now.

Conner made a disgusted sound. "Don't tell anyone else that."

"I'm not gonna lie."

"You don't have to. Just tell them none of their business. I'm not trying to be mean about it, but it's kind of gross. We all worked our butts off to get here, and I'm not saying you didn't either, but damn. Fourteen is early. And for Endlave Academy? They want to send you into combat as soon as you're legal?"

"We're not at war with anyone," said Daryl.

"Yet. _Yet_ is the key word. Listen to the firsties talk, when you stop attracting so much attention. Besides, you don't need to be at war to get into fighting. Just about any peacekeeping mission is going to involve people who are disturbing the peace. That's why they send soldiers out there in the first place."

Conner was probably right. Of course they deployed Endlaves in Japan as part of the GHQ's peacekeeping mission, and sometimes there was fighting, but it was hard for any resistance to combat an Endlave with conventional weapons, and it took the budget of a nation to produce Endlaves in any number.

"I'm gonna hit the simulators for practice," said Conner. "Do you want to come? Might get you a leg up before class on Monday."

Daryl thought about it and said, "Sure. Just let me drop my uniforms off. I can't stay all day though. I have plans this evening."

"What? When did you have a chance to set that up?"

"It's nothing like what you're thinking. I guess you could say I'm meeting with my academic advisor."

-GC-

He didn't know what else to call Colonel Brandt, other than her name, but he doubted that Conner would have recognized it. Colonels would not have much reason to interact with plebes, or at least Daryl did not think so. He just happened to be different, because he was younger.

His new uniform felt far too starched for him, even the short-sleeved service version he was allowed to wear due to the weather. Even standing in the shade was little relief in the middle of the California desert in late August. He really hoped his deodorant was working. The last thing he wanted was a pair of sweaty armpits in front of a senior officer.

The colonel's car came by the dorms and pulled to a halt out front. He remembered it from before, simple four-door sedan. Japanese make. The passenger side window rolled down and he could see the colonel inside.

"Get in," she said.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly, opening the car door. It was far, far too hot. He wasn't sure if he just burned his hand and gingerly used the outside fingers of his right hand to close the door as he got in, those hadn't touched the metal.

"We won't be eating in the mess," said the colonel. "I have permission to take you off campus grounds."

That was unexpected.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"There's an Italian place about twenty minutes out. Hope that will do."

He had a feeling that even if it didn't, he wouldn't be allowed to make another selection, so he said, "That's fine."

The Italian restaurant was not fancy and probably not authentic. It was a small restaurant intended for those people on the road who needed to stop for lunch or dinner, or the locals whose palates were not sophisticated enough to ask for more.

But the servings were huge, and not at all what Daryl remembered from Japan. The meat sauce in particular was thick, almost like a stew, and the spaghetti noodles were not as soft as he remembered. He wondered if Italian food changed that much depending on whether it was served in Japan or the United States.

"I'm going to be up front with you, Daryl," said the colonel. "It's my job to turn you into the best soldier you can be, so I want to know what your own expectations are and where your interests lie."

Brandt did not seem to touch her lasagna often, but it still disappeared faster than Daryl's spaghetti. He didn't think the colonel was enjoying her meal much. She ate without looking at it, having spent an uncomfortable amount of her time watching him.

"Okay," he said slowly, uncertain where to start.

"What do you expect to do here?" she prompted.

"Get good grades, graduate as an Endlave pilot with a commission as Second Lieutenant."

That was what every student wanted, right?

"Have you thought about your areas of concentration?" she said. "Your major, as it were."

"No, sir."

"We'll need to start you on one. What are you interested in? Any hobbies?"

"Well, I like building things..."

"Like what?"

"Machines, buildings, in games." An idea occurred to him and he said, "I can show you on your phone."

She handed it to him and he swiped out the holographic display, bringing up the website for one of his favorite games. He had made a factory there, to power his fortress. It had a lot of moving parts, all automated. He had spent days, weeks, putting it together. An hour here, fifteen minutes there. As long as he didn't build too much in one day his father didn't complain, and he had never showed him the completed work, because then he would realize just how much time Daryl had invested.

He hoped the colonel would not say anything to his father.

Brandt took the phone back and looked at the entry he had brought up. She could not run through the whole map, not without the game, but there were videos.

"The walkways move, but only when the fortress is under attack," said Daryl, "so that supplies can be brought to the defenders, and the cannonballs are made in the factory in the back of the fortress..."

"Did you design this yourself?" said Brandt. "You weren't copying anyone?"

"Yeah, I did it on my own. My dad didn't let me play regularly, so it was hard to get in a game with anyone else.

He explained his fortress's system to her. While his avatar could run around and do things personally, he had automated his entire fortress to work without him, so he could build other things. He had left off in the middle of making a chicken generating factory, which would incubate the eggs, move the hatched chickens to the yard, collect the eggs that were laid after they grew, and then turned the chickens into food when they were done. If the colonel logged in now she would probably find the machine pooping baby chicks out into the courtyard with no pen to hold them.

"Engineering would be difficult," she said at last. "It's a solid field of study, but I'm not sure that's the right choice. And as a pilot, you might not have use for it until after you leave cockpit."

"I'm not going to be a pilot forever," said Daryl. "No one is. If I stay in the military, if it's the kind of job I have all my life, I'll eventually get promoted to where I don't fly anymore."

Brandt exhaled, and Daryl was not certain, but he thought she might have smiled. "Do you really want to become an engineer?"

"No, but... It's just I don't think you're telling me to forget about it for the right reasons."

"I have two years to get you ready, Daryl."

His mouth opened and closed with a click. "Two years? I'll only be sixteen!"

Enlisted soldiers could head out to combat at seventeen or eighteen, but sixteen? He had heard about boys lying about their ages in old wars to fight at that age, but for the government to request it...

"I need something we can push you through fast," said Brandt, "and you probably would prefer it to be something you enjoy."

"But why so fast?"

The colonel sighed and said, "As you've probably gathered, you are special, Daryl. That's why we've brought you in early, and why we're training you faster than anyone we've trained before, _but_ I believe you will be worth it. The reasoning is classified, but your selection was not an accident. Don't second guess that."

He knew there was a reason, of course, but he hadn't expected that she would be frank about her inability to tell it to him. In retrospect he probably should have known it would be classified. Skipping him straight from middle school to college couldn't be normal. But at least he knew now that it was important.

"Is there anything else you're interested in?" said Brandt. "Normally you would not be required to choose until your second year with us, but if we're going to do this, you need to start as soon as possible."

"Do I have to decide right now?"

Deciding what he wanted to commit his life to did not seem like something he should do over lunch. What if he was wrong? What if he hated it?

"No, but classes are starting on Monday. I currently have your schedule filled with the core classes that all students must take as part of their general education requirements, but if we are to graduate you sooner, we're going to need to add a few. You will not want to join any classes more than a week behind or you'll have a difficult time catching up. But, if you are having trouble deciding, you can audit a few. That is, you can sit in on lectures of classes you might be interested in and then we'll sign you up if that is something you actually want."

"All right," he said. "I'll think about it."

Brandt nodded. "Very well then. Since it _is_ your birthday, I suggest you think about what you would like for dessert."

He swallowed. "Dessert, sir? I thought I was not to expect cake."

"And you shouldn't have," said the colonel, her voice matter-of-fact, "nor should you expect this a second time, but I didn't say it wouldn't happen. Happy Birthday, Daryl."

-GC-

On their way back to the academy, in between a full stomach from having eaten too much and the confusion over having gotten a birthday cake he hadn't expected, Daryl thought of his father.

After graduation he could be stationed anywhere. He knew how much a military family could move. He'd seen it himself. What he specialized in could well determine what kind of assignments he got, where he would live. As an Endlave pilot he would only be used in large, extended actions. Urban warfare most likely. Endlaves were expensive to deploy.

Japan.

That was the hot spot he knew. He wanted to go back to Japan. Then he could show his father everything he learned, how good a pilot he became.

"Are there language areas of concentration?" he asked the colonel.

"Yes," she said, "for certain languages anyway. There's not much point in a soldier learning French when we're not expecting crises where we need to interact with the locals. If you want to learn Russian though..."

"What about Japanese? You want it to be something I enjoy, and that I could learn fast."

It did seem like a bit of a cheat. He didn't know all parts of speech in Japanese, and his kanji was a bit murky, but he was already fluent enough to get by.

The colonel actually chuckled. "I think that would be a good choice, cadet."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Giving Daryl a jerk roommate would have been the easy way out, Kurota Haruka. That's why I didn't do it. Which isn't to say that there never be issues with Conner. We get a very limited look at what's happening in the story because we only get Daryl's point of view. That's why I include the audio-only conversations between Lieutenant Colonel Brandt and other military staff at the start of each chapter._

_Next chapter we'll be seeing Endlaves! I apologize for taking so long to get to some action. I didn't think it was going to take so long to take Daryl from the simulator to the pilot's seat until I realized I had to take care of Daryl's birthday dinner before class starts._


	6. Chapter 6: Casting the Mold

Chapter 6: Casting the Mold

_"Concerns, colonel?"_

_ "It bothers me, general, that he might not be tough enough. He's now been at the academy for a month and he does not speak unless spoken to, he always sits in the back of the classroom, and during meal time he does his best impression of becoming part of the wall. His roommate is the one saving grace. Daryl appears to have latched on to him, though I can't say the feeling's entirely mutual."_

_ "How has he been in the simulator?"_

_ "Holding steady with the rest of his squad. I think there's more talent in him, not just because he can assign nerve outputs to limbs that don't exist, but he's reluctant to draw attention to himself so he lacks initiative. He hasn't forgotten that incident in the cafeteria his first day."_

_ "We won't be able to use him if he remains like that."_

_ "I am aware, sir. There is a live practice scheduled soon. I asked Major Dillon to suggest a strategy to the cadet in charge of one of the participating squads. There is something I want to see."_

-GC-

Live practice today. It had only been a month, but Daryl could manage his bearings in an Endlave now. Part of it was all the roller blading for practice. He expected that the cadets would have spent more time jogging, running a few miles each morning, and while they certainly did their share of running, they roller bladed as well, to better develop balance and how to carry themselves in their Endlaves.

All the cadets had graduated from using the Bellman to a newer model called a Jumeau, which was expected to be put into wide spread service by the time they graduated. It had a bulbous head and a body that rested with backwards bending legs at a sort of half-crouch. The knees did not quite map right, and listening to the other cadets, most of them pretended the Endlave's knees were the joints at the hip of their physical bodies to get them to bend correctly. One of the cadets said he felt more like he was skiing than skating.

Daryl did not tell them that he did not link with his Endlave that way, that he did not have a problem thinking his knee through a movement that he could not do outside the neural pod.

"You awake over there?" Conner's voice came over the neural link. Daryl could hear him directly in his head.

"Hanging in," said Daryl. He tensed a hand for a moment, felt the Endlave echo the motion with its own.

"You don't have to be a superman you know."

Conner had expressed no small amount of confusion at the workload Daryl was under. While most students had breaks between classes, Daryl was booked solid. He could have told Conner that it wasn't his choice, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. Conner probably hadn't meant any harm by it, but because of him, now everyone in Panther Squad knew that Daryl had been an unusual early admission. He didn't want to be special, because being special set his teammates up for disappointment.

This month Oscar Reyes was their squad captain, and his grades were riding on how well they performed in their combat exercises against the other squads. He already disliked Daryl for being the lackluster boy wonder. If he had been another high school graduate Oscar would have ignored him as simply being middle of the pack, but having someone short, whose voice had just cracked (thankfully not a day too soon), and was clearly not the wunderkind he should have been, was galling to the overachiever.

In four weeks they would have their exam match against one of the other plebe squads, and everyone would be graded. Winning, though not necessary for a passing grade, would help a lot. Daryl had heard that squad captains that frequently won throughout their four years tended to get the plum assignments on graduation. And winning counted a lot more for the grade of the student currently in the captain's seat.

This month it was Oscar. Next month it would be Conner, and his roommate was already taking notes based on what he thought worked and what didn't. At some point, Daryl supposed he would be up as well.

Oscar's Endlave skated back and forth in front of everyone else, plainly nervous. Though he had outwardly been pleased to have been named first, Daryl could see his fear, the fear of failing. But Oscar was a good student. Paid attention in class. Had good ideas. Daryl was not afraid to follow him.

"Calm down, man," said Heather. Panther Squad consisted of eight students, and two of them were female.

"Just like we did in the simulator," said Oscar, though from the volume of his muttering he might as well have been talking to himself.

But it wouldn't be just like the simulator. Live practice meant that the pilots felt whatever happened to their machines. Though Daryl knew the eight of them were in pods in a large building on the north end of campus, he could feel the concrete beneath his Endlave's feet, feel the warehouse ventilation on the metal skin. If he put his hand down on the ground he would be able to gauge the pressure he exerted with the fingers of his Endlave.

This was nothing like the simulator. He knew now why the military wanted neural control.

The door to the bunker housing their Endlaves opened, and though Daryl's eyes were already closed to focus on what his Endlave saw, he could not resist the urge to squint. The sun was still low to the horizon. It was just past dawn and their machines were on the edge of the campus proper. There were still buildings, but these were dummies, built to give cadets something to train around.

"Panther Squad is free to deploy."

The voice of Major Dillon, their tactics instructor, came over the audio feed. No doubt he was also notifying their training partners, Wolf Squad, that they were also free.

"Remember, we're better than the Wolfs," said Oscar. "They're just a bunch of big dogs. Williams and Garcia have point. Lewis and Uminga fan their wings. Yan and Owen watch our rear. Norris, you're in mid with me."

Conner got point. Oscar trusted him.

"So how much do you think live ammo is going to hurt?" said James, who was in the back with Daryl.

"The ammo isn't live, even if the Endlaves are," said Conner. "It'll probably just sting."

"Maybe like football, when someone charges right into you and they realize they need something to break their fall—you," said Tomas Garcia, his Endlave shoulder to shoulder with Conner. "I mean, no one ever joined a sports team not expecting to get hurt at some point."

"Maybe if they did tennis," said Heather.

The squad laughed, but their laughter was nervous. Somewhere, where they couldn't see, was Wolf Squad. They skated down an artificial street, one wide enough that the Endlaves could fit three abreast if they wanted, but Oscar had Conner and Tomas in the middle and Heather Uminga and Paul Lewis off-center behind them, in their wings, to shoot over their shoulders if an enemy should appear.

"I heard the cows are already watching us," said Paul.

"We're a good team," said Oscar. "They'll want us."

Semester finals divided the entire academy into two teams. Firsties played high command. Some of them wouldn't even be in Endlaves for the exercise, with others being in charge of multiple squads. Cows, the juniors, would be the squad commanders leading grunts consisting of the plebes and yearlings; sophomores. If Panther Squad did well, there was a good chance that one of the better cows would take them for his or her squad for the semester final, and with a better commander, the squad itself might get better recognition.

"We're still plebes," said Ellen. "It's probably not anyone top of the class. The ones who are will pick the good yearlings first."

"We can make them the top," said Oscar.

"I think they're circling around," said Daryl. He could feel the pavement beneath his Endlave. Something heavy was rolling nearby, and it wasn't part of his squad.

Oscar called everyone to a halt, and the squad waited.

"I can feel them too," said Paul.

James's Endlave shifted nervously. Not a good sign. He was submerging himself too deeply in the machine. There was no reason for his body language to transfer to the Endlave, and that would let anyone watching them know he was uneasy. If someone shot him now, it would hurt even worse.

In his pod, Daryl forced himself to breath and relax.

Then they came.

An Endlave skated out around the rear of their squad, gun blazing. James rolled back with a shout, returning a spray of fire, and blundering into Ellen Norris who was in the middle of their group next to Oscar. She cried out when their Endlaves collided and Daryl scrunched himself down. Unlike a human, Endlaves did not hunker on their belly to evade gunfire.

Rather he thought of himself falling to his knees, and his Endlave folded down on itself to its vehicle mode.

Oscar and Paul fired over him. Then more of Wolf Squad appeared where Conner and Tomas took point.

"They're surrounding us!" said Heather. "Ah!"

The bullets were not real, they were gel-based, but they still hurt enough that the cadets knew they were hit. No one would get bruised, there was no physical damage, but to their linked minds, there was pain.

"Get them back!" shouted Oscar. "Don't panic!"

This formation was wrong. This ball was defensive. They were surrounded. Sure, it had been a good idea to stick together, but they had bunched too closely to go down this street and it left them vulnerable to ambush. Now they were sitting ducks. The four in the middle could not comfortably fire unless the front and rear guard ducked.

"Can we break formation?" said Daryl. "We're packed in too close."

"First person who does is going to get slaughtered."

Oscar was probably right, but...

James was getting back on his feet and Ellen was muttering a mantra to herself about the pain not being real. It was only a training exercise. And yet, the pain was real. Daryl felt the first strike on his leg and hissed. It was like paintball, but not entirely. More like someone had slugged him with a bat. Maybe not with the intent to break anything, but it was no simple tap on the shin. The smarting was wider than that.

Oscar barked orders. "Williams and Garcia, squat. Lewis and Uminga, aim above them. First sucker that gets in sight, shoot. Yan, stay low. You join him Owen. Norris and I will shoot over you."

They weren't going to win playing by Oscar's rules. Wolf Squad's Endlaves darted in and out behind the corners of buildings, split up as they were, but Panther Squad had no cover. They were in the middle of the street. Their only advantage was that if anyone appeared more of Panther could fire at any one Wolf.

"When they fire, they have a better chance of hitting us than us hitting them," said Daryl.

"He's probably right," said Conner.

Tomas snorted. "Four shots to one we'll disable one of them before they get any one of us."

"We have no cover," said Ellen. "They'll give us a third of a torso and we're giving them the whole thing."

"Then let's move," said Oscar. "Everyone, we're going to roll west. Yan, Owen, this means you're the new point. I'm looking at the map here and there's a wide space two blocks south of the next intersection."

Two blocks? Daryl found himself anxious just at the thought of getting to the intersection.

The squad carefully skated west. Daryl could see the exchange of fire on his display between Tomas and Conner, fending off the rear. But Wolf Squad could see their movements, and if they were smarter, they would have some of their forces from the side and rear skating around to the south, so that Panther Squad would have no chance of ever reaching the open space.

Daryl fired every time he got a bead on the two Wolf Endlaves darting in and out from the intersection. They would have to be taken out if Panther Squad was to turn the corner.

Then Conner went down with a shout.

James turned to look, and Daryl could see one of the Wolf Endlaves ahead of them lunge out from behind cover. He opened fire, but not before the other Endlave caught James square in the back.

Signals flashed on his HUD. Two machines down. The Endlaves themselves were not actually disabled, but their controls frozen. If this combat had been real, they would have been out for good from the damage they'd taken, their pilots bailed out to save any permanent nerve damage.

Oscar was trying to rally everyone, but then he took a hit. Though he was not out, his comm was gone. Daryl could hear Paul shouting at him for orders with no response.

Daryl set his jaw. He didn't want to disobey orders, and Oscar was in charge. But he wanted to win. He wanted something he could e-mail his father about. He wanted a good grade. Oscar was going to give him an earful for this, but without a commander capable of instruction, he was going to have to act on his own.

He peeled out of formation, accelerating hard, and the Wolf Squad Endlave in front of him leaped to the side, not expecting the rush. Daryl jumped, twisting in midair as his Endlave's legs extended, taking it from vehicle to biped in a single motion. He landed, his momentum skating him backwards past the intersection as he opened fire on the startled Wolf.

The Wolf Endlave jolted forward from the impact.

"What are you doing?" demanded Tomas.

"Scatter!" said Daryl. "Or use the damaged Endlaves as a shield!"

Their formation completely broke. Oscar's Endlave pumped an arm angrily, but everyone was moving independently now, still aiming for the intersection where they would turn south, skating for the open ground. Wolf Squad was now down an Endlave.

Paul got the other Wolf at the intersection and Daryl waited until everyone else had skated past before moving to take up the rear. But another Endlave suddenly streaked in front of him, fast. It was right in his face.

Daryl threw up his arms as if to shield himself. It was a completely ridiculous reaction in an Endlave, but as a human it only made sense.

His HUD lit up with a strike to his midsection and his pod powered down. He was out of the exercise.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So we finally get to the first Endlave scene, and we get to meet the rest of Daryl's squad. I realize a lot of names have flown by, but try not to worry about them too much. __I needed to give him enough classmates to have something resembling a squad, and not all of them will be important to the story, but I can't very well leave them nameless each time they show up._

_I ended up not writing much for _Imperfectly Forged_ this week because I've been working on a real bear of a short story that I hope to sell to an anthology editor, but fortunately I had chapter 6 already drafted and ready for proofreading for today. This is why working ahead is _fantastic_. Chapter 7 is already underway, and since I write roughly a chapter and a half a week there's no worry that my posting schedule will be affected._


	7. Chapter 7: Stoking the Fire

Chapter 7: Stoking the Fire

_"That exercise was embarrassing, colonel."_

_ "May I inquire, general, whether it was breaking formation or the disabling of his Endlave that you found to be the problem?"_

_ "The formation was forgivable. Command been compromised and Daryl Yan had the right idea, just not the time or leadership to implement it. But he should not have lost that Endlave. Surprises happen on the battlefield and he should by reflex engage the enemy instead of blocking with his arms, which have no benefit in a machine."_

_ "I am not saying this as an excuse, general, but the blocking reflex is a common mistake for many cadets. Daryl is no exception in that regard. We get them used to thinking of the machines as their bodies and they react accordingly. From my perspective, the important thing is that he _did_ show initiative once free from his commander. That gives me something to work with. With Oscar Reyes no longer able to issues orders, that exercise showed that Daryl is capable of operating on his own, and potentially effectively. The boy honestly does wish to excel, if only to please his father."_

_ "You engineered that?"_

_ "I only suggested that the captain of Wolf Squad be encouraged to consider how Oscar Reyes like to command his squad. They handled the rest."_

-GC-

"What the fuck was that?" demanded Oscar.

At least the older cadet had waited until they met up again in the mess for lunch. It was unfortunate that squadmates were supposed to sit together.

"I bought you guys time," said Daryl, looking down into his food; sliced turkey with peas and carrots.

Though down three Endlaves to Wolf Squad's two, the odds had not felt so uneven once Panther Squad broke through to the open area. Paul had ended up rallying everyone around him and they held near even the rest of the match. Only a single Wolf remained standing, and only because the pilot had been crafty enough to feign disablement so she could shoot the final Panther that had been about to do a victory lap.

It was a good trick. Daryl would have to remember that.

"If you have ideas, you need to bring them up to the team! You don't get to go balls out on your own," said Oscar.

"We needed a second-in-command," said Ellen. "Someone for us all to report to when your comm was taken out."

Oscar glared at her, but she remained unmoved, mechanically sticking bites of turkey in her mouth as if eating was simply a routine that must be performed.

"That was Paul," said Oscar.

"Not officially. He just managed to take charge afterwards."

Daryl appreciated Ellen, though he wasn't sure she cared one whit about him. She brought up the things no one else wanted to say and Oscar's bluster bothered her about as a much as a gnat.

"Hey, no reason to get bent," said Paul, his voice deep, soothing. "We live, we learn. Next time we go in, we know to have a command chain set up."

"There isn't going to be a next time. Not for me," said Oscar.

Conner was next. Oscar's turn as squad captain was over for this year.

"Seriously, it wasn't a bad show," said Paul. "We were almost even, and the lucky shot that turned the match had nothing to do with Wolf Squad's captain. You've still got plenty of time to pull your grade up and now you won't have to worry about being in the hot seat again until next year."

It was true. There were still more matches before the semester finals, and Panther Squad had not been docked much for having come out of such a close match, though Tomas had been spoken to by Major Dillon for his ill-conceived victory lap.

Mostly, Daryl was tired. Even if he wasn't spending a couple hours a day in an Endlave simulator, college level classes were definitely different from middle school. Less repetition, less checking of homework, if homework was checked at all. But the testing. That was grueling. His instructors just expected him to _know_ and that was no good. His grades were terrible. His piloting was terrible. He was going to flunk out, he just knew it.

So when he checked his tablet and saw a message that Colonel Brandt wanted to see him, he wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

"What's that?" said Conner, looking over his shoulder.

"Message from my advisor."

"A _lieutenant colonel_?"

He didn't have to say it loud enough for the rest of Panther Squad to hear. Daryl stuffed his tablet back in his bag without meeting anyone's eyes.

"Yeah," he said quietly, as if it was no big deal. "I'm gonna go."

He picked up his meal tray and his bag, and without looking to his squadmates, walked towards the exit.

-GC-

Colonel Brandt wanted to meet him after hours, so Daryl hid in the library for the rest of his lunch before going to his afternoon classes. Though he saw his squadmates in half of them, he tried not to meet their eyes, and focused on taking notes on whatever sounded important, even if he did not fully understand. He couldn't continue like this. He went to his instructors after class if he had the time, but he didn't always. Like today, he had to see the colonel.

She had an office on academy grounds, though not in the same building as most of his instructors. He began to wonder if she was an active part of the faculty herself, because he had to go so far out of his way to get to her. No wonder she had driven the car when she had picked him up for his birthday.

His badge let him in the cavernous building with her office and he walked up to the second floor, footsteps echoing in the empty halls. On occasion he would see someone, none of them cadets, and he would salute as they walked past. A couple of them nodded in return, and it seemed that they might have recognized him, as they did not seemed surprised or bothered that he was there.

That was unnerving as best, and made him wonder if they had been part of the strange selection process that had brought him here.

He found the office marked as belonging to Lieutenant Colonel Lyrica Brandt, balled his hand, and knocked loudly on the door—not hard enough to be obnoxious, but he knew she would not appreciate signs of hesitation.

"Come in," said the colonel.

Daryl opened the door, and the interior of her office was sparsely furnished. Though she had shelves above her large L-shaped desk, all of them were empty. The colonel's attention was on her monitor, though her eyes flicked briefly in his direction.

He saluted. "You called, sir?"

"Have a seat," she said.

The only furniture in the room consisted of her desk, the chair she sat in, a thin wooden chair for a visitor to use, and oddly enough, a potted plant that was almost as tall as he was. Daryl studied the broad leaves of the plant, wondering why this was the only decoration in the room as he pulled back the visitor's chair and sat down.

Brandt finished what she had been typing and then wheeled her chair to face him. "It was a gift," she said, noting his interest in the plant. "As for you, there are two reasons I called you here today."

"I'm really sorry about my grades," said Daryl. "I'm trying my best and–"

"I know you are trying, but it is not your best."

"But it is!"

He didn't _like_ feeling like an idiot in class. The only thing he was doing decently in right now was Japanese and that was just because he already had the vocabulary to work with. Every night he was reading his books, bugging Conner for help, and a lot of times it just wasn't enough. It had gotten to the point where he hated asking his roommate because even if Conner knew the answer, he had to roll back so far in his explanation both of them would forget where they were going by the end. It wasn't Conner's responsibility to teach him everything he missed, and he knew it made him uncomfortable, especially seeing as Daryl did not drop any of his maddeningly load of classes.

"You are thinking as an ordinary student," said Brandt, "but you already know that you're not. When we first met I told you to appraise me of any issues you have, and yet you leave it to me to fish you out when you start falling behind in your coursework."

"I... I didn't think you had the time to help me." Which was true, and though she had offered help before, he had thought it was a courtesy offer, and not one meant to be taken. She was a colonel!

"I don't have the time to be your tutor in every subject, but that doesn't mean I can't find someone who will be," said Brandt. "This time, after class tomorrow, you will come here and I will introduce you to First Lieutenant Gene Harada, who will serve as your tutor for the immediate future."

Her voice brooked no disagreement.

"Yes, sir," he said. "And the second thing you wished to talk about?"

Brandt frowned and turned her head to look in a drawer that she rattled open. "I want to talk to you about your performance in this morning's exercise."

"You were watching?"

She didn't answer. It was a stupid question. Of course she had. Why else would she bring it up?

The colonel pulled two sheathed knives out of the drawer and slid one across the desk to him. "Pick it up," she said.

Daryl did. It had a grip shaped for a person's hand. This was meant for combat. When he carefully pulled the knife from its sheath he saw that blade was serrated for better cutting. It was maybe seven inches long. He was not stupid enough to test how sharp it was.

"Is this about disobeying my captain?" he asked.

"Your judgment could have been better," said the colonel, "but you learn to work with people by doing so. Oscar Reyes is not going anywhere. The two of you will have a chance to butt heads again. Instead, I want you to think about what happened to get your Endlave disabled."

Daryl thought back. This morning felt like such a long time ago.

"Someone jumped in front of me," he said. "I knew I was going to get hit."

"You had been shot at earlier in the exercise. How was this different?"

"It wasn't going to hit me in the arm or the leg. It was like someone was jumping at my face... so I threw up my hands to block him, but... Endlave arms don't stop bullets."

"They can in some circumstances," said Brandt, "but the bullets didn't hit your Endlave's arms. The Jumeau's limbs are terribly short for blocking."

She was right. The damage was tagged to his gut, and he was glad he hadn't eaten breakfast prior to the morning exercise.

"You need to accept that you will get hurt when you go into battle," said Colonel Brandt. "The soldier who does has an advantage over the one who does not." She unsheathed the knife she had kept on her side of the desk. "For instance, in a knife fight, the wielder has this one small blade with which to attack. Let's say this wielder is you. What would you do when someone else attacks you with a similar blade?"

"Block," said Daryl, looking nervously from his knife to hers.

"With what?" she asked.

"With my knife."

"Wrong." The colonel lifted her left forearm and made a fist with its back turned to him. "You block with this—your arm. Your knife is only a few inches long. If you try to block another blade with it you're looking to get your weapon hand cut."

"But I can't see how getting a blade stuck in the arm of my off-hand is any good," said Daryl.

"You're not looking to catch the blade of your opponent. Not just because it will hurt, but also because it's small. So what _are_ you trying to block?"

Daryl tried to picture it, someone lunging at him with a knife. Of course the blade was small compared to the person wielding it, but... but because it was small, it would not be the only thing coming in reach.

"I would use my blocking off-hand to strike the weapon hand, the weapon _arm_," said Daryl slowly, "and then, I would attack with my own knife."

She nodded. "Correct. You would use the arm of your off-hand to push away your opponent's attack. Even if they're stronger than you, a quick strike might be all you need to change the trajectory of their blade. The blade will always be a small fast-moving target, but the whole of their arm will not, especially if you're close enough to be using knives."

"So what does this have to do with Endlaves?"

Brandt played with the knife in her hands and then set it down. "Obviously you won't want to get hurt when trying to defend yourself against a knife-wielder attacker, but sometimes you will catch the knife rather than your opponent's arm. It's better your arm than your gut, there's no arguing that, but the thing to keep in mind is that if you get into a knife fight, you better be prepared to bleed. You'll get cut and you'll feel like your entire life is bleeding away, but it's not. It is no different in an Endlave. Though your body might be safely behind lines somewhere, you _will_ get hurt, and if you're ready for it, you'll be prepared to deal with it."

"I missed CBT," said Daryl, looking down at the knife in his own hands. "Was this something they taught?"

"Knife fighting would have been covered, yes. Though the knife is one of mankind's oldest tools, it is still highly practical. It will never run out of ammunition, never fail for lack of electricity or fuel. If you're stranded in the wilds without a friendly face for miles, you can still trust your knife."

Daryl did not like the picture it brought to mind, and wondered what the colonel's own service history had been.

"You're speaking from experience," he said.

"We did not have Endlaves when I was a new officer," said Brandt, "and they wouldn't have worked where I was deployed anyway. One good mine and even if we had roads the Endlave would've tipped over. It was all guerrilla fighting, people hiding in the hills and us dropping bombs on them hoping we got the right ones. A knife was good to have."

"Are there other things from knife fighting that I could apply to an Endlave?"

"Of course," said Brandt.

"Then, can I get trained?"

She narrowed her eyes, rather like a lioness, as she considered this and said, "You are already overloaded with coursework and we're about to set you up with a tutor. You can't fall behind in your studies. Are you going to be able train knife fighting top of everything else?"

"I... I still have weekends unscheduled," said Daryl. "I need to get better. If I hadn't frozen up this morning, Panther Squad could have won."

Brandt nodded. "That might have happened. But it takes more than good intentions to bring about real change, either in yourself or others. You have an analytical mind, Daryl. I've seen it, and it will help on the battlefield as long as you are not afraid to speak up. Be assertive. Respect isn't given to you. It's earned."

Earned. He considered that and said, "I'll keep that in mind. And the knife training?"

"Saturday mornings, 7 am, at the gym. I'll train you myself."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks for all the recent comments, everyone! I always appreciate it._

_The knife fighting details in this chapter come courtesy of an intro workshop I took with the California-based Twilight Knights, a western martial arts group. It was a lot of fun and I highly recommend taking one of their workshops if you happen to be at a convention where they're present. (They will visit anime conventions from time to time.)_


	8. Chapter 8: Adding Wood

Chapter 8: Adding Wood

_"I heard you're working one on one with him, colonel."_

_ "I have to, if I'm going to bring any talent out of him. I've found that if I prod him directly, he's willing to give me results. Daryl is hungry for praise, but it can't be meaningless. The harder he has to work for it, the more he takes it to heart. I think it's because of his father. General Yan gave him so little approval that anyone whose respect is worth having, must be similarly cheap with affection."_

_ "Right now, very few people are praising him. It's hardly just you."_

_ "That's true. But there's a difference, something that even General Yan hasn't told him. Daryl knows I see a potential in him, and because of that, he's going to fight."_

-GC-

Daryl tumbled down on the mat, another rough landing that quickly ended with Brandt's practice knife against his throat. But he was getting better. He _did_ learn things from her as promised, things that could be applied to an Endlave.

He learned that skill did not matter as much as he thought it would. Though she landed ten strikes to his one every time they sparred, all it would take was one lucky strike, one moment when he caught her off guard, for him to land what would have been a crippling blow if they were using real knives. And it did not matter when in the match that lucky strike could come. If it came in the beginning, the bout was his.

The practice knives were thick enough for both them to recognize a hit, but still soft enough to yield with nothing more than a bad bruise at worst. Daryl had caught one in his ribs that lasted for a few days.

It was sobering to realize how quickly a knife battle could end, even for someone who was an experienced combatant, but it would be that way in an Endlave too. The wrong shot at the wrong time, and it would be over. At least with an Endlave there was a chance the pilot might be bailed out, or that the brain damage wouldn't stick in the event of a head wound.

But the lesson he took home was that an opponent's greater skill was not insurmountable. There was never any reason to give up. When Brandt told him to come at her like he was trying to kill her, it was hard, but he got better. She pushed him, and it was different from when his other instructors asked anything of him. He was not just a faceless student.

"Don't lose your balance next time," said Brandt, standing up.

"You like to circle to your right," said Daryl. "I was trying to get ahead of you this time."

And fell over in his hurry. It did not help that he had been trying to dodge at the same time.

"Anticipating your enemy is good, but not at the cost of losing your balance," said Brandt. "If you're on the ground and your opponent is still standing, there's a damn good chance the fight is over." She glanced up at the clock on the wall of the exercise room. "I think that's enough for today. Breakfast will be in the mess soon."

She extended him a hand and he accepted it, letting her help him to his feet. He didn't dare refuse.

Though he hadn't told her, he suspected that Brandt knew of his dislike for the proximity of other people. He had to steel himself for their matches, because some level of contact of inevitable, and he had asked for this. He wanted to be better.

And contact was easier to take with the adrenalin already running.

"Thanks," he said, handing her the practice knife.

Brandt accepted it with a nod. "I'll see you later then. And I expect to see better results the next live exercise."

-GC-

He had been practicing with Brandt for almost a month while Conner took up leadership of Panther Squad. His roommate had designated Paul as his second and the squad drilled together in the simulators with their new command structure. Oscar had groused a little bit about not being second, but otherwise took orders from both Conner and Paul well enough.

Daryl had the feeling that everyone might end up taking Paul as their second, as he was comfortable both taking and giving orders, and nothing ever seemed to bother him. He would probably make a good officer on graduation.

"I'm starting to feel like I see you in class more than I see you in our room," said Conner as they suited up for the next live exercise.

"I'm getting help in the evenings," said Daryl as he zipped up his suit, which meant that he frequently did not return until an hour or two before midnight. It wasn't that Lieutenant Harada was actively tutoring him the whole time, but Daryl would do his homework or go over the lessons of that day in the office space set aside for their use, and if there was anything he did not understand, he would ask the lieutenant. If everything was fine, Harada spent most of the evening reading a book.

The lieutenant had graduated from the Endlave Academy a few years earlier, and it turned out that while he had been an excellent student as far as the classroom went, he hadn't fared as well as a pilot. He had been an "older" student and his synchronization ability with an Endlave had been on the lower end for an academy cadet, but he was bright enough that there had been no trouble in finding him an assignment outside of the cockpit.

Because Harada _knew_ the coursework at the Endlave Academy, and was fluent in his ancestral language to compliment Daryl's area of concentration, he made an excellent tutor.

"From who?" said Conner. He shut his locker door and walked out of the changing room.

"One of the lieutenants is tutoring me," said Daryl, falling into step behind him. "I don't think he's part of the faculty—just stationed here."

"Nice of him. Or is he being told to?"

Daryl shrugged, not wanting to commit to an answer that would again spread to the rest of the squad. Harada had readily admitted that he reported directly to Brandt and that his assignment was to assist Daryl, but that was likely not all that Harada did. Daryl could hardly imagine that watching over him three to four hours a day would encompass all of the lieutenant's duties, especially since Harada _was_ bright. Daryl had no doubt that Harada was smarter than he was. Considering that the lieutenant had graduated three years ago and his own freshman classes were seven years past, Harada had an excellent memory, down to some of the lessons specific instructors had used and continued to use with Daryl's class.

"I thought about picking you as my second," said Conner, "but I didn't think that was a good idea."

"It doesn't bother me," said Daryl, though a part of him wished Conner had.

"The last live exercise we did was a mess, but we had a good comeback thanks to your outburst. I just don't want to put up with the political bullshit if I don't have to. You're here because someone wants you here, and the rest of us have to put up with that. If I asked you and we failed, it would hurt more than if you weren't my second and the exact same thing happened."

"Really, it doesn't bother me," said Daryl. "You put me where you want me, and I'll do what I'm told. You're not Oscar, and you don't keep acting like I'm a disappointment of a miracle."

"I suppose you _are_," said Conner with a shrug, "but everyone's got to start somewhere. Maybe you weren't recruited for your piloting skills, but someone thought it was necessary for you to learn them, and that's why you're here."

Daryl wondered if that was the case, if he would end up like Harada, teaching others who were to follow. But he had a feeling he was better than that, that if he and Harada were to both pilot an Endlave he would be able to outmatch the lieutenant by the time he graduated. Daryl was not on the low end in his ability to sync. It was just that he didn't know his capabilities as a pilot. He needed more practice.

Conner opened the door to the command center that held the neural pods for live practice. There were dozens of them here, to accommodate half of the academy for when semester finals were underway. In another warehouse, was a similar command center for the other half. Today, though, they only needed eight pods for their squad.

Ellen and Heather were already there, the two roommates running ready checks on their pods as they had been trained. Oscar was there too. He noticed Conner and Daryl walk in, and turned away almost immediately, and there was no guessing whose presence he was slighting.

"I'm just another soldier," said Daryl quietly. "It's better that way."

"I'm still counting on you," said Conner, stepping away to select his pod.

In their practices, Conner had given Daryl more leeway to interpret his orders. He was a different sort of commander from Oscar, who wanted to manage everyone down to when they sneezed. It wasn't that Conner was lax, or at least Daryl did not consider him that, but he left room for initiative.

Conner selected a pod next to Oscar's with a vacant one on the other side, which from simulation practice, the group understood would be Paul's when he arrived. Daryl decided to take one on the other side of Heather and Ellen.

Heather waved at him and said, "Hey, little bro."

"Hey, guys," he said in return.

Ellen looked at him as he passed by, but then turned back to her pod.

"Tomas Garcia is in the house!" Tomas's voice rang out as he sauntered in the room with one clenched fist raised high. "We're going beat Bear Squad, right guys?"

"You bet!" said Heather, giving him a thumbs up.

Conner nodded. "I think we've trained well enough for this. We'll get a win on our belt."

"One win, one loss will make our record even," said Ellen.

"Better than nothing," said Oscar. He made a sour face.

Paul and James showed up together, the former giving the latter a reassuring slap on the back before walking up to his pod beside Conner. James took the one on the other side of Oscar. The squad was assembled.

Chief Warrant Officer Pham approached them. She was the head of the monitor team that would be observing the health of the pilots, and bailing them out if necessary, by severing the connections between them and the Endlaves. She wore a headset that connected her to the instructors' coordination room and the monitor team for Bear Squad.

After briefly holding the earpiece closer to her head, she said to Conner, "Bear Squad has finished assembling. Is Panther ready?"

Conner glanced at the rest of the team and Daryl nodded to him.

"Yes," said Conner.

"All right," said Pham. "Get in your pods." Then to the people on the other end she said, "Panther Squad is ready. They are entering their pods now."

Daryl thought he would have had less butterflies in his stomach now thanks to his practice with Colonel Brandt, but evidently that did nothing to alleviate pre-exercise jitters. He put on his helmet and sank into his seat in the neural pod. His eyes were already closed when he heard his monitor click the canopy shut.

It was probably because this was for a grade, and because he had to work with the rest of the squad. That had to be the reason for his nervousness. But if he did better this time, then maybe they would be friendlier. Maybe even Oscar would come around.

He could feel the neural link activate, like the tightening of his suit, of a second skin being fitted to his body. He could see out his Endlave's eyes. They were piloting Jumeaus again. He didn't like the stubby arms, because they didn't map well to his own. He wanted to call it a design flaw, but didn't think that notion would be particularly welcome for a model soon to be rolled out for wider distribution.

"Roll call," said Conner over the neural link.

One by one they sounded off by their last names. Everyone was connected and ready.

"Opening the warehouse doors," said Warrant Officer Pham.

There was a hum as the doors opened, exposing the Endlaves in the interior to the early morning light. The cityscape in front of them was different from last time. There was less of it now, like the terrain had been bombed. Shelter would be harder to find, but that also made for fewer places for Bear Squad to hide.

Over the link came the voice of Major Dillon. "Panther Squad is free to deploy."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I have to mention that the knife fighting workshop I took wasn't specifically for this story, so I feel a bit out of place receiving praise for that bit of research. Since I write a lot besides fanfic it was something I took for general purpose learning, and then after I finished it, I realized that I could use it for this one. I try not to turn down the opportunity to learn anything interesting that I might be able to repurpose later._

_I realize Daryl's class load is high, but I think it is still humanly possible. In the real world, there are students who double major in unrelated subjects and make it out in four years, or single major and make it out in three (though most people who are capable of doing the latter still stay for four for social reasons). With a tutor in his back pocket I don't think it would be inhuman to for Daryl to make it out in two, especially considering that he's not participating in any extracurricular activities and he's cheesing his major. I found that for a lot of college classes, what I actually learned in high school was not as necessary as the study habits I picked up along the way (math and the hard sciences being the primary exception)._


	9. Chapter 9: Rising Heat

Chapter 9: Rising Heat

_"Is it going to be an honest match this time, colonel?"_

_ "The last one was no less honest, lieutenant. Advice is not a matter of dishonesty."_

_ "You're working him hard. He tries to hide it when he comes to the office for tutoring, but sometimes he puts his head down when he thinks I'm not looking."_

_ "Are you letting him nap?"_

_ "Of course not, colonel. I'll make enough noise that he'll reconsider and sit up again. But I'm letting you know, because I think we may be pushing him too hard."_

_ "He's not where we need him to be, but I understand your point. If he burns out, he'll be of no use to us at all. The thing is, I don't think he's anywhere close to breaking."_

_ "I know you're doing some hands on training with him, colonel, but aren't we looking for a pilot instead of an infantry soldier? Of all the things to catch him up on, knife fighting seems the least applicable."_

_ "You'll see. If I'm right, we should see something new today."_

-GC-

"Listen up, everyone!" said Conner. "Bear Squad is hiding a doomsday device somewhere on the field that we've got to surround and neutralize. Naturally we have one of our own and they'll be doing the same. The device will only be considered neutralized if we disable all Bear Endlaves within a quarter mile radius and prevent any new ones from entering for a period of two minutes. On our end I want Lewis and Reyes guarding our baby. Everyone else is going to move forward with me."

The baby in question was hidden on their end of the exercise field, towards the back, but not in their immediate starting area so Bear Squad would not have more than a general idea of where it was hidden. It would even be possible to move the baby, but that would risk bringing it in sight of any roving Bears.

"In the real world wouldn't we have a satellite team telling us where to go?" said James. "I mean, you don't want Endlaves fumbling blind for a D-Day device."

"Sats could be out," said Paul. "Might as well practice for it."

"We know communication can break down," said Ellen. "We just need to look at the last live exercise to know, and that wasn't even real."

"You don't need to pour anymore salt on that wound," said Oscar.

Paul and Oscar peeled off from the rest of the team and raced for their device. The plan was to be in position before Bear Squad could cross the field and see where they intended to hide.

Conner had everyone in a loose formation resembling a wide W with no one directly in front or behind anyone else. It was not meant to be held, but for each squad member to have space to move and dodge as needed. They were not going to get pinned like last time.

"Approaching mid," said Daryl.

"Everyone, find some cover." Conner himself selected a broken building resembling a theater. There was room for one other Endlave and Heather slid in alongside him. "We're going to hopscotch from cover to cover to advance. If you see anything, holler."

Daryl hid behind a promising pile of rubble, but then realized that the top of his Endlave was sticking out and skated to another one. He didn't like this terrain. Cover was sparse enough that Panther was too spread out, but he couldn't argue with the need to hide. Surprise was a too good an advantage to give up.

Though, Bear Squad probably knew they would encounter them soon. If Bear Squad had run to mid as fast as Panther, they must be just out of sight, waiting to engage.

"Yan, you're pretty far out there," said Conner.

"It's okay, I got him," said Tomas, steering his Endlave into place. There was room for two.

Daryl grimaced. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Woah, no need to get snippy!"

He could hear the mock offense in the other cadet's voice, as if Daryl's reaction had been overblown, but a part of him suspected Tomas _had_ come over to cover for him, to cover for the kid who should have been in high school instead of the academy. Daryl was not that poor a pilot. It was only his age, and his lack of experience, and while Tomas was a better pilot than him, it didn't mean that he would be forever. They had started at the same time. He wasn't _that_ much better.

"Moving ahead," said Ellen, jumping out from her current cover and leapfrogging to the next.

"I'll go next," said Heather.

"No!"

Gunfire erupted and Ellen skated back around. They could hear her panting. She must have been hit, but not fatally or her Endlave would have shut down.

Conner did not bother to ask her condition. If she hadn't been shut down or bailed out, she could still fight. "How many?" he demanded.

"Two were already peeking out when I emerged, and I caught two more jumping out as I came back around."

"So they're already in position, but they're not attacking?"

"They can't just turtle over there with guns sticking out," said Oscar. "If they don't attack they can't win."

"Hey hey, no backseat commentary," said Tomas. "You're guarding the baby."

Guarding the baby... Daryl had a thought.

"How many of them do you think are out there?" said Daryl. "Norris saw four, which means it's at least half their squad, but if there are only half of them, then we have the numerical advantage since there's six of us."

"It doesn't seem like a good number," said Conner. "Half on offense and half on defense means that if we field a larger offensive we'll overpower both their forward and their rear teams. I don't think Bear is that stupid."

"Probably not."

Daryl sighed. But they had at least four. So the question was, did they go six and two like Panther? Maybe even seven and one? Surely they wouldn't leave their device unguarded. It would be highly embarrassing if a single Panther had wandered around the edges of the exercise field and sat by the device for two minutes while everyone was off fighting elsewhere.

"Norris," said Conner, "if we give you cover fire, do you think you can advance your next position?"

"Yes, sir," said Ellen. "Just give the word."

"All right, then on the count of three I want everyone giving cover fire to Norris. One... two... three!"

Daryl swiveled out from behind his cover and started shooting before he even saw another Endlave. Given the theme of the battlefield, there was no reason worry about property damage, and preventive spray could cause the other team to hesitate.

But it didn't.

It looked like Bears were rising up everywhere. Ellen wasn't going to make it.

"You've got to be kidding me!" said James. "Is that all eight of them?"

"Back under cover!" shouted Conner. "Uminga, peel off and circle around. See if you can find their device. We'll keep them busy here. Ellen, are you still with us?"

"Sorry, no." Her voice sounded very far off and disappointed. "My Endlave's out."

"Don't worry. There's still four of us in mid, and Uminga's going to sneak around."

Heather would have to take the long way around though, to get past them undetected, leaving the Panthers with half the size of the other squad.

"Do you think they know how many we have in mid?" It was Paul who spoke, though he wasn't stationed with them.

"They probably counted the six of us and they know we lost one," said Conner. "I'd say they're counting on five of us holding here."

"One of us could have snuck around instead of Uminga," said Oscar. "That'd give you an extra person. If eight break through you, there's no way in hell the two of us are going to last."

"All eight _don't_ need to break through. The object of the exercise is to capture the enemy device. How many Endlaves are present at moment of the catch doesn't matter. If we hold six and two slip through, then you're on even ground against them. The four of us here are going to hold them for as long as it takes for Uminga to find their baby."

"They won't give us the time," said Daryl. "Or at least I wouldn't if I was Bear Squad. If they outnumber us that badly and time is working against them..."

"They're charging," said James.

"Return fire!" said Conner, leaning out from behind cover. "Remember, our goal is to hold the line. Let them come to us."

They downed one, before Bear reached their defensive line, but there was something odd about the other squad. Daryl glanced at his screen and saw only six of Bear Squad had attempted the charge. Two had remained behind giving cover fire, and they were clumped together using the same building for cover.

"Wake up, kid!" said Tomas, sending a Bear Endlave skittering to the side and out of his line of fire. "I swear your aim is like you're drunk throwing darts in a bar."

Daryl ignored him. "Williams!" This was a bad time to be making a request of Conner, their squad captain was pinned under fire, and suddenly Daryl realized he could not make as bold a request as he wanted without endangering Conner and James. But he and Tomas were not in the center of the siege. He had come out too far.

"What is it?" shouted Conner.

"Have Garcia give me cover fire." Tomas was the only one nearby, and Tomas might only listen if he was ordered, because he would have to obey. It was part of his grade.

"No. We can't spare the gunfire. They're going to swarm past us."

No, not if Daryl was right. But if he was wrong...

"Uminga, how are you looking?" It was Paul who asked.

Heather's voice came on the line, tight, but in control. "I've circled around, but there's nothing yet."

"It's probably not in the back!" said Daryl. "You can move the devices. They have it with them! That's why all eight are here, but only six of them charged. Two of them are hiding just behind their offensive line. That way they can guard the device _and_ provide cover fire."

"Ballsy." Oscar.

Conner seemed to agree. "Garcia, give Yan cover fire! Find out what's back there!"

The Bears wouldn't expect a charge. The gunners in the back were directed more towards Conner and James, where the bulk of the Bears were. There were two of them versus him and Tomas. Two versus two shouldn't be too bad. Daryl would have about ten seconds of no cover. The longest ten seconds of his life.

"I'm going," he said to Tomas.

"Good luck, kid," said the older cadet. "Show me some moves."

Daryl kicked his speed up to max, and hunkered down, knees bent and Endlave collapsed as tight as he could get it. Shots rang out above him and one of the Bear Endlaves crumpled. He remade a note to himself that perhaps antagonizing Tomas was not a very good idea if he was that good a shot.

The remaining Endlave was ready though. It squatted down, making itself a smaller target as well, gun positioned to spray at Daryl's legs. It wanted him to move. It was sensible for him to move. Without his legs his Endlave would be crippled, and moving at this speed, straight into gunfire was going to hurt even with the gel-capsules in place of bullets.

But doing the unexpected was good. He only needed one clean strike, the one his opponent wouldn't see coming.

Daryl's Endlave raised itself to stand just as the Bear opened fire. The pain was incredible. He should have tried to dodge, at least a little, but he wasn't that good a pilot yet, and this Jumeau was too clumsy.

His Endlave tipped forward without any sense of balance, its momentum still pushing it onward, so that it crashed on top of the squatting Bear with Daryl's gun pointed down on top of the other Endlave.

"Say good night!" he muttered, and opened fire.

The enemy disabled, he turned his Endlave's head and confirmed what he had suspected had been hiding behind the building.

"Williams, this is Yan. Bear's baby is right by my position, and now it's unguarded."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Kurota Haruka, yeah, I agree it's not the same without Tsugumi. I had wondered if this story would be as popular without her, and it doesn't seem to be, which I guess shows the power of shipping. _Imperfectly Forged_ is a little strange too since it's prequel for a side character who didn't have an extensive backstory originally._

_For those readers who play online PvP a lot, you might recognize that this live exercise was inspired by capture the flag._


	10. Chapter 10: Filling the Crucible

Chapter 10: Filling the Crucible

_"You look surprised, lieutenant."_

_ "That must have been painful, colonel. He didn't even try to get out of the way. He should have been able to dodge it and try for a second approach. His squadmate might even have picked off the remaining defender if he gave him a chance."_

_ "But think of the time pressure he's under. Look at the odds for the rest of Panther. His squadmates currently under fire are outnumbered."_

_ "I know, sir. The situation looks bad. But still, Daryl's Endlave is ruined now. It's not just simulated damage anymore. He's actually wrecked it. They'll bail him out."_

_ "I'm not so sure about that."_

_ "Are you going to make another call?"_

_ "No, that would be a little too direct, and I want him to decide for himself."_

-GC-

"Do you hear me, Cadet Yan?" Chief Warrant Officer Pham's voice was loud in Daryl's head. "Your legs are not really broken. Do you understand?"

"I know," he said, gritting his teeth.

Every nerve in his body was trying to convince him otherwise, but it was only the Endlave. His body was safe. He was really in a neural pod, in the command center, nowhere near the battlefield. Only the Endlave was broken.

Was it really? It had to be. The sting from the gel capsules should no longer hurt. No one was shooting at him anymore, and the Endlave beneath him was completely still. Red lights flashed in his mind's eye. Everything below the knees was gone.

"We're going to bail you out," said Pham. "Since your Endlave was not hit in a core area, the automatic disable didn't kick in. I just want to make sure you're aware that it's not that you were surprised by an enemy you didn't see. It's us pulling the trigger."

"Wait!" he said.

He could see the rest of Panther and Bear Squads moving on the field. Bear had realized what was happening and converged on his location. They probably thought him down, crumpled like he was on top of a Bear Endlave, but they couldn't leave their device unguarded.

Conner and the rest were chasing after them and Heather was swinging over from the other side. She was coming in fast and would join the fray from a completely different direction, but not before Bear Squad reached his position.

"Most of my systems are still up," said Daryl, trying to keep the pain from his voice. It felt like his legs had been crushed. "I have not been completely disabled. Leave me in the match."

In a real battle he would not bail out now. They only wanted to do it because it was practice. There was nothing at stake except a grade.

"Very well, cadet," said Pham, her voice crisp. "But we will do a medical evaluation of you afterwards to make sure you recover."

That was fine. Daryl lay still, as though his Endlave was out, and throttled back his power output, trying to reduce his heat signature as much as possible. He did not talk to his teammates, who had not heard the conversation between him and Warrant Officer Pham. He did not want them to look his way and reveal that he was still operational. He tried to block out the throbbing of legs that had not truly been shattered.

It must have been from ramming into the Bear Endlave. The other pilot probably had felt a flash of agony as well, just before the Endlave shut down from Daryl's gunfire, but the pain would have ended after disablement. Daryl really hoped no one would be upset if he actually broke the two Endlaves.

"I'm in position!" said Tomas.

He arrived first, skating around the building and right up to the doomsday device. Gunfire sprayed around the corner.

"Remember, all enemy Endlaves need to be either disabled or out of the quarter mile radius for two minutes," said Conner. "If they're going to circle the wagons, then we have to take them all out. They're not going to run away now."

"Do you want us to hold position?" asked Paul. He and Oscar were still guarding Panther Squad's own device. "You're down two people now."

"No, stay back. We pegged two of them when they doubled back. Only three against four right now, and as soon as Heather catches up to us we'll be even."

And Panther could recover from that. If Daryl's partially disabled Endlave could be counted, they actually outnumbered Bear, in a way. He had not forgotten how Panther had lost the last fight because Wolf Squad had a combatant who was not fully neutralized. The squad had been forced to watch the replay of that battle multiple times as a reminder not to prematurely celebrate any given engagement, and there was no reason that Panther could not take advantage of that same tactic as well.

"I'm almost there," said Heather. "Coming up behind Tomas."

"Sandwich them!" said Conner.

Bear Squad hurtled around the building and Tomas skated backwards around the corner using the debris for cover as he sprayed bullets at them. The move let Bear Squad circle their doomsday device, but now they were about to be surrounded.

"In the real world couldn't they blow this thing up now and destroy all of us?" said James.

"Ignore the hypothetical," said Conner. "Stick to the mission."

In the real world the brass might or might not know the capabilities of any such device. As long as they had contact with command their directive wouldn't change until command said so.

"You'll see me in five," said Heather.

Conner and James rounded the building, brakes squealing, and opened fire. Bear retaliated. It was a mess. Tomas yelled at James to be careful about the crossfire. Heather rushed in from a third direction. Bear Squad scattered. The doomsday device was pelted in gel. Daryl wondered if they all should have gotten blown up by now.

Slowly, he raised the power levels to his Endlave, felt the systems hum in response. Everyone was busy now. There was no need to wait until the end of the match. James was disabled, again. Tomas was damaged. Bear Squad only lost one for certain. The remaining three were still functional in some way.

The Jumeau's arms were short, and barely capable of lifting his Endlave's torso, but he set the hands against the Endlave beneath him and pushed. He just needed to raise himself enough to get the chest gun clear. The targeting reticle danced in front of his mind's eye. Steady...

Conner got one. Heather fell. Tomas ducked back under cover.

Daryl focused on one of the Bear Squad members harassing Conner. It was completely ignoring its fallen enemies. This one must be the squad captain, or Bear Squad's second, because it motioned with its arms the most. Its pilot had forgotten that its enemies could see its gestures just as much as teammates. That they were physically in different command centers made no difference.

The pilot would learn their lesson soon enough.

"Can you come back out?" said Conner.

"Tough going," said Tomas, "but just give me the word."

"Lewis, Reyes, if we don't make it, we'll at least have damaged them for you. We'll make sure we get at least one more."

It was no longer time for waiting, not with only two squadmates still in the fray, and the better combatants among them. "Williams, get the one on your left," said Daryl. "I've got a bead on the other."

"You're still here, kid?" He could hear the surprise in Tomas's voice, but was too exhausted to complain about the nickname. All he could think about was a steamroller working his legs. They just weren't there anymore. He was starting to feel like having legs at all was some strange hallucination.

"On my mark: my left, your right, Garcia," said Conner. "Other one's yours, Yan. Don't miss."

The two remaining Bear Squad members pivoted, and as one skated towards Tomas's end of the building, going after the more damaged Endlave. It made sense, and to avoid completely turning their backs on any given enemy, the one of the closest to the building, the one on Conner's right, skated backwards. It would be harder for Tomas to hit it from cover that way, and it could protect its remaining partner from Conner.

"Now!" shouted Conner.

Tomas flung himself outward, firing at the Bear facing his direction. Conner sprayed at the same Endlave but couldn't sit still long enough to get a clear shot with the Endlave closer to the building firing at him.

But that Endlave was not expecting Daryl.

He opened fire and pelted it square in the chest, emptying most of his magazine into it to make sure there was no chance of it getting up. Freed from its suppressing fire, Conner laid into the final Bear, and it keeled over, disabled.

Panther Squad had won, and Daryl found his consciousness abruptly ejected from his Endlave.

-GC-

Lights shined in his eyes. Voices were reaching his ears, obnoxiously loud and distorted so he couldn't tell who was talking. He wished he knew who they were so he could tell them to stop, and it didn't help that someone was pointing a stupid floodlight at him.

"Are you there, Cadet Yan? Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?"

He was fairly certain this was Warrant Officer Pham.

"Too bright," he managed.

"All right, we'll come back to that one. Do you have any feeling in your legs?"

Hands were grabbing at him, lifting him. He wasn't an invalid. But at least the lights seemed to be fading a bit. When he thought about it, he didn't feel any pain anymore, but he was not entirely sure how he was supposed to feel his legs. Usually he didn't think about whether or not they were there. They just were.

Still, he realized that he should probably move them.

"Whoa, not while we're moving you on the stretcher," said a gruff voice.

The light wasn't so bright now. He could make out faces, Pham standing grimly to one side, three other monitors staring down at him; two of which had him by the shoulders and legs. Other faces came into view. His squadmates were staring.

"Is he all right?" asked James.

Pham sighed. "Considering he just kicked a warrant officer, I think he will be, but we'll still take him to medical to make sure there is no nerve damage. Can you see my fingers now, Cadet Yan?"

He nodded. "Three fingers."

"Good. I think you'll make it."

"I can't believe he stayed in the Endlave after it broke like that," said Heather. "He wasn't disabled?"

"Normally we would bail him out," said Pham, "but it was his request."

For a moment Panther Squad was silent, and the two warrant officers under Pham began wheeling the stretcher to the exit from the command center. Daryl could see his squadmates watch him as he left.

Conner gave him a thumbs up and Tomas shook his head muttering something to the effect of Daryl being crazy.

The last one he passed was Oscar, who looked at him and said, "Ballsy move there," leaving Daryl to wonder if he had struck his head as well as his legs. That almost sounded like a compliment.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Second half of the Endlave fight. So we're seeing some progression in Daryl's guts as a pilot. I noticed that in _Guilty Crown_ that Daryl's Endlave gets beat up a lot, up to and including head injuries without him getting bailed out. The only time he was actually bailed out was when his entire Endlave would have been annihilated, whereas Tsugumi is more conservative when looking after Aya. She stops Aya from receiving a blow to the head, but Daryl's taken the same sort injury at least twice._

_Though they are the only two Endlave pilots we regularly see, I suspect part of the difference is because Rowen is aware that Daryl is capable of surviving damage that would ruin other people. It's not a difference in the pilot's will to fight as neither Daryl nor Aya ever ask for a bail out, and it's not a difference in the monitor (Rowen clearly cares about Daryl's well being, and Tsugumi feels the same for Aya), so my feeling is that Rowen simply knows that Daryl can really take a punch._


End file.
